Mr. Campion's Lucky Day & Other Stories (21 page)

Burchell’s garage and the Fairlop both proved to be establishments in the charge of efficient ex-Service men who kept careful records of every car received from the Formby. They were positive that no Sunbeam Rapier had been housed by them on the night of February the twelfth.

“That brings us back to Mr. Knapp,” said Davidson. “Perhaps Thurtle shot Parker?”

Fisher shook his head. “Not on your life,” he said. “There’s a very different man behind all this. Thurtle’s a swindler; he took a big risk and came an almighty cropper but this fellow takes risks all the time.”

It was after midnight when Fisher at last found the time to present himself before the door of 3-A Southwold Mansions. The lights in the neat, well-kept hall were lowered to half strength, but the bright green door looked expensive and inviting.

In response to his ring, the door was opened and Box’s pink face appeared.

“So, you’ve come at last, have you?” he said. “Come in. I was beginning to be afraid you’d backed out. Come in and have a drink.”

He was in pyjamas and dressing gown of many colours which blended in with his bright yellow hair. Fisher followed him into the main room of the suite. It was a big, ornate apartment, expensively furnished and comfortable. Box went over to a side table and mixed a drink for himself and his visitor, talking the whole time.

“I was afraid you hadn’t taken me seriously. I had great difficulty in getting on to you at that place. You policemen always ought to be on the alert, you know—always eager to pick up a crumb or two of information which might lead you to big things. Have a cigarette? That box is full of them. The man I rented this flat from seemed to want to make me comfortable. He’s left the whole place in running order.”

Fisher walked over to the window and, sweeping aside the heavy lined curtains, stood looking down. Perry Street, with its sinister yard, lay directly beneath him. Opposite was the narrow alley which led into Winton Square, with its small shops, unsavoury mews, and curious reputation. Really, the view of WX-15 from the window at which he stood was extraordinarily complete. He was interrupted in his thoughts by Box, who thrust a glass into his hand.

“Well, what do you think of the flat?” he asked. “It looks all right at first glance, doesn’t it? If you were looking for a furnished flat for your aunt, wouldn’t you say it was the very place?”

Fisher, whose only aunt was an impecunious and elderly spinster with strong teetotal convictions, grinned.

“I might,” he conceded. “But seriously, George, if you’ve brought me up here to congratulate you on your house hunting, you haven’t been very intelligent.”

“Oh, but wait. I’m giving you a drink to brace you up.” Box’s round face was momentarily serious. “There’s more to come. First of all, suppose you step in here?”

He led Fisher into an adjoining bedroom. It seemed an ordinary room, a little too elaborate for Fisher’s own taste, but otherwise perfectly normal. Box was quivering with excitement, however.

‘When I changed tonight, I dropped a cuff-link,” he said. “I was crawling about on the floor looking for it when I discovered this. Rather queer, isn’t it?”

He pushed the bed aside and pointed to a ring set in the floor.

“Now look,” he commanded. He pulled it up and revealed a small square hole in the floor which contained, to Fisher’s astonishment, three revolvers. Box rose to his feet.

“There you are,” he said. “That’s the first exhibit. Apparently my landlord likes to be ready for burglars. At the first alarm he can hop out of bed and go to meet them, a gun in each hand and one in his teeth. An impressive first appearance, I should think.”

Fisher shrugged his shoulders but his eyes were grave.

“Maybe just an idiosyncrasy,” he said. “It certainly seems odd to leave them in a furnished flat.”

“Odd?” said his host. “It’s odd all right. You wait. Our next port of call is the kitchen. Here we have a service lift.”

The blue-tiled kitchenette had a wedge-shaped shaft built in across one corner, and in it was a small lift worked by ropes and unusually solid for such a contraption.

“This takes you right down to the back yard of the block,” Box said. “Interesting, isn’t it? It goes through the flat below, of course, but it doesn’t have an outlet there.”

“How do you know?” Fisher inquired.

“Because I’ve been to see. I’ve ridden up and down in that thing twice. You’ll find it more difficult because you haven’t got my elegant proportions, but I did it quite easily. Look!”

He climbed into the hatch and sat there cross-legged, smiling out at his visitor. “There you are,” he said. ‘These ropes work at a touch.”

He grasped the rope at his side and moved himself up and down a few feet either way with ease. “That isn’t all,” he went on hastily, “see this?”

He stretched out his hand and touched a switch on the inside of the panelling of the lift shaft. Instantly they were in darkness.

“See that?” Box’s voice was triumphant. ‘That turns out every light in the flat. And what’s more, you can’t turn them on again until this has been readjusted. You try!”

Using his torch, Fisher made the experiment. It was not until the switch had been put back that the flat was once more lit.

“Well, you’re glad you came along, aren’t you?” asked Box.

Fisher smiled.

“I am, certainly. You must have had a joyous evening playing with these gadgets. Any more?”

“Only one thing I know of.” Box was as pleased as a child with a new toy. “Come and stand in the sitting-room.”

They went back to the room Fisher had first seen, and Box indicated the fireplace. This was an over-decorated affair. The over mantle rose up to the ceiling and was made of lacquered wood ornamented with an inlay of mother-of-pearl in the form of a cherry branch in full blossom. The fireplace itself was set farther back in the wall, and there were small inglenooks built in on either side.

“What do you think of that?” Box demanded.

“Hideous,” said Fisher frankly. “That decoration doesn’t go with that design.”

Box grinned. “Well, you stand and watch it, that’s all.”

He went out of the room, leaving the door open, and from where Fisher stood he could see his dressing-gowned figure pass down the corridor and unlock the front door, through which he disappeared.

“Now,” said his exuberant voice. “See the fireplace?”

Fisher glanced up. Each mother-of-pearl bud and flower was glowing with a ruby light. The effect was pleasant and somehow startling.

Box came back highly delighted.

“Did you notice it? Rather natty, isn’t it? I saw it first when the man came to read the meter. It works very simply. Anybody standing on the doormat forms a contact which produces the illumination. Rather a jolly little flat, isn’t it? Just the place for auntie.”

Fisher sat down in one of the deep armchairs before the fireplace.

“Look here, Box,” he said. “How did you get hold of this place? How long have you been here?”

“I moved in about four o’clock this afternoon and I took the flat off a most respectable agent at eleven o’clock this morning. Apparently his client has gone abroad on a film contract. He’s an actor. I forget the name. He left very suddenly and just threw the keys in at the agents and told them to let it. It’s very cheap considering, and I snapped it up. Of course, I don’t know if I should have been so certain it was just what auntie wanted if I’d noticed all the parlour tricks, but I didn’t spot them until this evening. I rang up the agent but he’d packed up for the night. Then, of course, I just had to have someone in to see my display, so I got on to you. Would you like a history of my life now? Or perhaps, if we could think of a crowd we could ring up, we might throw a party. There must be a few people we know who haven’t gone to bed yet.”

Fisher did not respond immediately. His mind was taken up with the strange disclosures he had just seen. Of course, there was just a chance that these elaborate signals and precautions were the property of a burglar-shy householder, alarmed by the recent increase in crime, but it hardly seemed likely.

Box broke into his thoughts.

“There’s another bedroom over there you can have,” he said. “Or don’t the police ever sleep? I’m not a nervous man, you know, but there’s something about this place that gives me the creeps. Do you notice it? There’s a sort of—how shall I say?—expectant atmosphere about. Something most extraordinary.”

Fisher did not answer. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that instant there came an interruption so remarkable that it brought both young men to their feet. A prickly sensation ran down Fisher’s spine.

From the fireplace someone had spoken. The voice had the curious metallic, yet hollow quality of a bad loudspeaker.

“Put out the lights,” it said. “Put out the lights. We’re coming up!”

As Fisher stood there wrestling with his surprise the voice came again. “Put out the lights. We’re coming up!”

Fisher was the first to pull himself together. He sprang forward into the wide, open fireplace and peered under the mantle. The explanation was instantly apparent. It
was
a loudspeaker. This then, was yet another of the many curious devices hidden in the flat. Even as he watched the disc it spoke again.

“Put out the lights. Hurry!”

Motioning Box to follow him, Fisher darted into the kitchen and pressed back the master switch. He had no doubt that there must be another such device more conveniently placed in the flat, but now was not the time to search for it. Then, keeping Box behind him, Fisher crept back to the main room. As they stood waiting in the darkness they could hear a little traffic in the street outside but otherwise there was not a sound. The flat seemed to be holding its breath.

Suddenly Box gripped the detective’s arm and Fisher, who had his eyes fixed on the spot where he guessed the doorway must be, caught sight of the cherry branch picked out in crimson lights on the mantel. The warning was dramatic. Someone stood outside the green front door.

After what seemed like a full minute there was a faint click down the passage, followed by a rustling. Fisher laid a restraining hand on Box’s arm. He was sufficiently experienced not to go leaping into a fight without first discovering the odds against him.

The silence was nerve-racking. The darkness seemed full of strange forms, there was no sound, no breath to tell them whether they were alone or not.

It was the crimson warning over the fireplace flashing out once again which was the first real indication that their visitors were leaving. Three times the lights flashed and then all was darkness.

Fisher pulled out his torch and swept it round the room. Nothing had been disturbed. They appeared to be alone. Box stepped back into the kitchen and a second later the lights were on again.

It was Fisher who first caught sight of the object down the end of the corridor just inside the front door. With a smothered exclamation he darted forward, Box at his heels. When they were within six paces of it, they pulled up short, and the two young men stood staring at this newest and most remarkable surprise the flat had to offer.

Half lying, half seated upon a heavy hall chair, her head thrown back, her eyes closed and her slim hands and ankles bound with cord, reclined a girl.

Fisher bent over her. “Good heavens!” he said. “Whatever next! Look here, you go and get her some water while I untie her.”

He turned his head as he spoke, and just for an instant he saw an expression on the other man’s face. Fisher only caught a fleeting impression and in a moment it had passed from his mind as Box’s face regained its normal colour and blissful appearance.

“Oh, yes. Yes, quite. I think that’s a good idea. Should it be brandy? No, perhaps not. What a funny flat. I must tell the man tomorrow it won’t suit auntie. Strange women popping in like this. She doesn’t consider herself old-fashioned, but she wouldn’t like it. She’s funny that way.”

He trotted off to the kitchen while Fisher unbound the cord which fastened the girl’s wrists and ankles. She was beautiful. Her long red-brown hair flowed against her soft white skin, and her heavy dark lashes enhanced her pallor. Suddenly she opened her eyes and looked at him. Her first expression was one of surprise, which quickly turned to terror.

Before Fisher could speak, Box’s inconsequential voice echoed from the kitchenette.

“Here, I say, Bob, half a minute! Come. Come at once, will you?”

There was an urgent note in the tone and Fisher turned instinctively. He found Box hanging over the lift.

“Listen,” Box said. “Can you hear something?”

Fisher bent over the shaft.

“There’s nothing there,” he said at length. “What did you think you heard?”

“Someone screamed.” Box had lowered his voice and the effect was somewhat ludicrous. Fisher was inclined to be irritated. He took a glass from the shelf and filled it from under the tap.

“Come on,” he said. “Don’t forget the girl. She can probably put us wise to the whole thing.”

As he entered the passage he heard a sound which brought a curse to his lips. As soon as he came in sight of that empty chair he knew what had happened. The cords which had bound her lay on the floor and the front door hung wide. The girl was gone.

Fisher turned round and thrust the glass into Box’s hand.

“Here, take this,” he commanded.

“I say, where are you going? Wait for me!”

Fisher glanced at him over his shoulder as he reached the door. “I may just catch her. See you later.”

Box followed him to the doorway and then he frowned and, coming back slowly into the flat, shut the hall door behind him. For a moment he stood hesitating. Then he shrugged his shoulders and, placing the glass of water on the hall table, went back into the bedroom and began to dress with speed.

When he came out of the room, although his bland face was still good humoured a subtle difference had come over the expression in his eyes. They were no longer frank. Instead a purposeful look lingered in their depths. He went round the flat, turning out the lights, and then made his way to the kitchenette. He entered the lift with the air of one long accustomed to do so, and lowered himself swiftly into the yard below.