Elk rolled his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.
“I’m not well acquainted with the Statute Book,” he said, “but I’m under the impression there is no law preventing people from cultivating undergrowth. The—what’s the word?—psych—”
“Psychology,” suggested Mr. Broad.
“That’s it. The psychology of whiskers has never quite reached me. You’re American, aren’t you, Mr. Broad?”
“I have the distinction,” said the other with that half-smile that came so readily to his eyes.
“Ah!” said Elk absently, as he stared through the window. “Ever heard of a man called Saul Morris?”
He brought his eyes back to the other’s face. Mr. Joshua Broad was frowning in an effort of thought.
“I seem to remember the name. He was a criminal of sorts, wasn’t he—an American criminal, if I remember rightly? Yes, I’ve heard of hint. I seem to remember that he was killed a few years ago.”
Elk scratched his chin irritably.
“I’d like to meet somebody who was at his funeral,” he said, “somebody I could believe on oath.”
“You’re not suggesting that Lew Brady—”
“No. I’m not suggesting anything about Lew Brady, except that he’s a very poor boxer. I’ll look into this distressing whisker competition, Mr. Broad, and thank you for telling me.”
He wasn’t especially interested in the eccentric toilet of Ray Bennett. At five o’clock Balder came to him and asked if he might go home.
“I promised my wife—” he began.
“Keep it,” said Elk.
After his subordinate’s departure there came an official letter to Inspector Elk, and, reading its contents, Mr. Elk beamed. It was a letter from the Superintendent who controlled the official careers of police officers at headquarters.
“Sir,” it ran, “I am directed by the Chief Commissioner of Police to inform you that the promotion of Police-Constable J. J. Balder to the rank of Acting-Sergeant has been approved, The appointment will date as from the 1st May.”
Elk folded up the paper and was genuinely pleased. He rang the bell for Balder before he remembered that he had sent his assistant home. Elk’s evening was free, and in the kindness of his heart he decided upon conveying the news personally.
“I’d like to see this wife of his,” said Elk, addressing nobody, “and the children!”
Elk turned up the official pass register, and found that Balder lived at 93, Leaford Road, Uxbridge. The names of his wife and children were not entered, to Elk’s disappointment. He would like to have addressed the latter personally, but no new entry had been made on the sheet since Balder’s enlistment.
His police car took him to Leaford Road; 93 was a respectable little house—such a house as Elk always imagined his assistant would live in. His knock was answered by an elderly woman who was dressed for going out, and Elk was surprised to see that she wore the uniform of a nurse.
“Yes, Mr. Balder lives here,” she said, apparently surprised to see the visitor. “That is to say, he has two rooms here, though he very seldom stays here the night. He usually comes here to change, and then I think he goes on to his friends.”
“Does his wife live here?”
“His wife?” said the woman in surprise. “I didn’t know that he was married.”
Elk had brought Balder’s official record with him, to procure some dates which it was necessary he should certify for pension purposes. In the space against Balder’s address, he noticed for the first time that there were two addresses given, and that Leaford Road had been crossed out with ink so pale that he only noticed it now that he saw the paper in daylight. The second address was one in Stepney.
“I seem to have made a mistake,” he said. “His address here is Orchard Street, Stepney.” But the nurse smiled.
“He was with me many years ago,” she said, “then he went to Stepney, but during the war he came here, because the air raids were rather bad in the East End of London. I am under the impression he has still a room in Stepney.”
“Oh?” said Elk thoughtfully.
He was at the gate when the nurse called him back.
“I don’t think he goes to Stepney, though I don’t know whether I ought to talk about his business to a stranger; but if you want him particularly, I should imagine you would find him at Slough. I’m a monthly nurse,” she said, “and I’ve seen his car twice going into Seven Gables on the Slough Road. I think he must have a friend there.”
“Whose car?” asked the startled Elk.
“It may be his or his friend’s car,” said the nurse. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“He is in a way,” said Elk cautiously.
She stood for a moment thinking.
“Will you come in, please?”
He followed her into the clean and tidy little parlour.
“I don’t know why I told you, or why I’ve been talking so freely to you,” she said, “but the truth is, I’ve given Mr. Balder notice. He makes so many complaints, and he’s so difficult to please, that I can’t satisfy him. It isn’t as though he paid me a lot of money—he doesn’t. I make very little profit out of his rooms, and I’ve a chance of letting them at a better rent. And then he’s so particular about his letters. I’ve had a letter-box put on the door, but even that is not big enough to hold them some days. What his other business is, I don’t know. The letters that come here are for the Didcot Chemical Works. You probably think that I am a very difficult woman to please, because, after all, he’s out all day and seldom sleeps here at night.”
Elk drew a long breath.
“I think you’re nearly the finest woman I’ve ever met,” he said. “Are you going out now?”
She nodded.
“I’ve an all night case, and I shan’t be back till eleven to-morrow. You were very fortunate in finding anybody at home.”
“I think you said ‘his car’; what sort of a car is it?” asked Elk.
“It’s a black machine—I don’t know the make; I think it is an American make. And he must have something to do with the ownership because once I found a lot of tyre catalogues in his bedroom, and some of the tyres he had marked with a pencil, so I suppose he’s responsible to an extent.”
One last question Elk asked.
“Does he come back here at night after you’ve gone?”
“Very rarely, I imagine,” replied the woman. “He has his own key, and as I’m very often out at night I’m not sure whether he returns or not.”
Elk stood with one foot on the running-board of his car.
“Perhaps I can drop you somewhere, madam?” he said, and the elderly woman gratefully accepted.
Elk went back to headquarters, opened a drawer of his desk and took out a few implements of his profession, and, after filing a number of urgent instructions, returned to the waiting car, driving to Harley Terrace. Dick Gordon had an engagement that night to join a theatre party with the members of the American Embassy, and he was in one of the boxes at the Hilarity Theatre when Elk opened the door quietly, tapped him on the shoulder, and brought him out into the corridor, without the remainder of the party being aware that their guest had retired.
“Anything wrong, Elk?” asked Gordon.
“Balder’s got his promotion,” said Elk solemnly, and Dick stared at him. “He’s an Acting-Sergeant,” Elk went on, “and I don’t know a better rank for Balder. When this news comes to him and his wife and children, there’ll be some happy hearts, believe me.”
Elk never drank: this was the first thought that came to Dick Gordon’s mind; but there was a possibility that the anxieties and worries of the past few weeks might have got on top of him.
“I’m very glad for Balder,” he said gently, “and I’m glad for you too, Elk, because I know you tried hard to get this miserable devil a step in the right direction.”
“Go on with what you were thinking,” said Elk.
“I don’t know that I was thinking anything,” laughed Dick.
“You were thinking that I must be suffering from sunstroke, or I shouldn’t take you out of your comfortable theatre to announce Balder’s promotion. Now will you get your coat, Captain Gordon, and come along with me? I want to break the news to Balder.”
Mystified, but asking no further questions, Gordon went to the cloakroom, got his coat, and joined the detective in the vestibule.
“We’re going to Slough—to the Seven Gables,” he added. “It’s a fine house. I haven’t seen it, but I know it’s a fine house, with a carriage drive and grand furniture, electric light, telephone and a modern bathroom. That’s deduction. I’ll tell you something else—also deduction. There are trip wires on the lawn, burglar alarms in the windows, about a hundred servants—”
“What the devil are you talking about?” asked Dick, and Elk chuckled hysterically.
They were running through Uxbridge when a long-bodied motorcar whizzed past them at full speed. It was crowded with men who were jammed into the seats or sat upon one another’s knees.
“That’s a merry little party,” said Dick.
“Very,” replied Elk laconically.
A few seconds later, a second car flashed past, going much faster than they.
“That looks to me like one of your police cars,” said Dick. This, too, was crowded.
“It certainly looks like one of my police cars,” agreed Elk. “In America they’ve got a better stunt. As you probably know, they’ve a fine patrol wagon system. I’d like to introduce it into this country; it’s very handy.”
As the car slowed to pass through the narrow, crooked street of Colnebrook, a third of the big machines squeezed past, and this time there was no mistaking its character. The man who sat with the driver, Dick knew as a detective inspector. He winked at Elk as he passed, and Elk winked back with great solemnity.
“What is the idea?” asked Dick, his curiosity now thoroughly piqued.
“We’re having a smoking concert,” said Elk, “to celebrate Balder’s promotion. And it will be one of the greatest successes that we’ve had in the history of the Force. There will be the brothers Mick and Mac, the trick cyclists, in their unrivalled act…” He babbled on foolishly.
At Langley the fourth and fifth police cars came past. Dick had long since realized that the slow pace at which his own car was moving was designed to allow these laden machines to overtake them. Beyond Langley, the Windsor road turned abruptly to the left, and, leaning over the driver, Elk gave new instructions. There was no sign of the police cars: they had apparently gone on to Slough. A solitary country policeman stood at the cross-roads and watched them as they disappeared in the dusk with a certain languid interest.
“We’ll stop here,” said Elk, and the car was pulled from the road on to the green sidewalk.
Elk got down.
“Walk a little up the road while I talk to Captain Gordon, he said to the chauffeur, and then he talked, and Dick listened in amazement and unbelief.
“Now,” said Elk, “we’ve got about five minutes’ walk, as far as I can remember. I haven’t been to Windsor races for so long that I’ve almost forgotten where the houses are.”
They found the entrance to the Seven Gables between two stiff yew hedges. There was no gateway; a broad, gravelled path ran between a thick belt of pine trees, behind which the house was hidden. Elk went a little ahead. Presently be stopped and raised his hand warningly. Dick came a little nearer, and, looking over the shoulder of the detective, had his first view of Seven Gables.
It was a large house, with timbered walls and high, twisted chimney-stacks.
“Pseudo-Elizabethan,” said Dick admiringly.
“1066,” murmured Elk, “or was it 1599? That’s
some
house!”
It was growing dusk, and lights were showing from a broad window at the farther end of the building. The arched doorway was facing them.
“Let us go back,” whispered Elk, and they retraced their steps.
It was not until darkness had fallen that he led the way up the carriage drive to the point they had reached on their earlier excursion. The light still showed in the window, but the cream-coloured blinds were drawn down.
“It is safe up as far as the door,” whispered Elk; “but right and left of that, watch out!”
He had pulled a pair of thick stockings over his shoes, and handed another pair to Dick; and then, with an electric torch in his hand, he began to move along the path which ran parallel with the building. Presently he stopped.
“Step over,” he whispered.
Dick, looking down, saw the black thread traversing the path, and very cautiously avoided the obstacle.
A few more paces, and again Elk stopped and warned Dick to step high, turning to show his light upon the second of the threads, almost invisible even in the powerful glare of the electric lamp. He did not move from where he stood until he had made a careful examination of the path ahead; and it was well that he did so, for the third trip wire was less than two feet from the second.
They were half-an-hour covering the twenty yards which separated them from the window. The night was warm, and one of the casements was open. Elk crept close under the window-sill, his sensitive fingers feeling for the alarm which he expected to find protecting the broad sill. This he discovered and avoided, and, raising his hand, he gently drew aside the window blind.
He saw a large, oaken-panelled room, luxuriously furnished. The wide, open stone fireplace was banked with flowers, and before it, at a small table, sat two men. The first was Balder—unmistakably Balder, and strangely good-looking. Balder’s red nose was no longer red. He was in evening dress and between his teeth was a long amber cigarette-holder.
Dick saw it all, his cheek against Elk’s head, heard the quick intake of the detective’s breath, and then noticed the second man. It was Mr. Maitland.
Mr. Maitland sat, his face in his hands, and Balder was locking at him with a cynical smile.
They were too far away to hear what the men were saving, but apparently Maitland was being made the object of reproof. He looked up after a while, and got on to his feet and began talking. They heard the rumble of his excited voice, but again no word was intelligible. Then they saw him raise his fist and shake it at the smiling man, who watched him with a calm, detached interest, as though he were some strange insect which had come into his ken. With this parting gesture of defiance, old Maitland shuffled from the room and the door closed behind him. In a few minutes he came out of the house, not through the doorway, as they expected, but apparently through a gateway on the other side of the hedge, for they saw the gleam of the headlights of his car as it passed.