CHAPTER XXX
The girl looked at him, speechless.
“It isn’t true!” she cried.
“It’s not true, isn’t it?” Jeffrey almost howled the words. He was mad with hate, with grief, with desire for cruel vengeance. “I’ll show you whether it’s not true, my lady. You’re my wife—do you understand that? If you don’t, you’re going to.”
He flung out of the cell, turning to voice his foul mind, and then the door clanged on her, and he strode out of the hall into the little house that was once the Governor’s residence, and which was now the general head-quarters of the Big Printer.
He poured himself out a stiff dose of whisky and drank it undiluted, and the man who had accompanied him watched him curiously.
“Jeff, it looks to me as if it’s time to make a get-away. We can’t keep these people here very long. The men are scared, too.”
“Scared, are they?” sneered Jeffrey Legge. “I guess they’d be more scared if they were in front of a judge and jury.”
“That’s the kind of scare they’re anxious to avoid,” said his lieutenant calmly. “Anyway, Jeff, we’re getting near the end, and it seems to me that it’s the time for all sensible men to find a little home on the other side of the water.”
Legge thought for a long time, and when he spoke his voice was more calm.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “Tell them they can clear to-night.”
The other man was taken aback by the answer.
“To-night?” he said. “Well, I don’t know that there’s that hurry.”
“Tell ’em to clear to-night. They’ve got all the money they want. I’m shutting this down.”
“Who killed your father?”
“Peter Kane,” snarled Legge. “I’ve got the full strength of it. The police are hiding him up, but he did the killing all right. They found him on the premises in the morning.”
He sat awhile, staring moodily at the glass in his hand.
“Let them go to-night,” he said, “every one of them. I’ll tell them myself.”
“Do you want me to go?” asked the other.
Legge nodded.
“Yes; I want to be alone. I’m going to fix two people to-night,” he said, between his teeth, “and I’m fixing them good.”
“Some of the men like Johnny Gray; they were in boob with him,” suggested his assistant, but Jeffrey stopped him with an oath.
“That’s another reason they can get out,” he said, “and they can’t know too soon.”
He jumped to his feet and strode out of the room, the man following at a distance.
There were two halls to the prison, and it was into the second that he turned. This was brilliantly illuminated. The doors had been removed from most of the cells, and several of them were obviously sleeping-rooms for the half a dozen men who sat about a table playing cards. At only four places were the cell doors intact, for behind these were the delicate printing presses which from morning till night were turning out and numbering French, American and English paper currency. There was not one of the men at the table, or who came to the doors of their cubicles, attracted by the unusual appearance of Legge, who had not served long terms of imprisonment on forgery charges. Jeffrey had recruited them as carefully as a theatrical producer recruits his beauty chorus. They were men without homes, without people, mainly without hope; men inured to the prison system, and who found, in this novel method of living, a delightful variation of the life to which they were most accustomed.
It was believed by the authorities that Keytown Jail was in the hands of a syndicate engaged in experimental work of a highly complicated character, and no obstacle had been placed in the way of laying power cables to the “laboratories.” Jeff had found the safest asylum in the land, and one which was more strongly guarded than any he could have built.
His speech was short and to the point.
“Boys, I guess that the time has come when we’ve got to make the best of our way home. You’ve all enough money to live comfortably on for the rest of your lives, and I advise you to get out of the country as soon as you can. You have your passports; you know the way; and there’s no time like the present.”
“Do you mean that we’ve got to go to-night, Jeff?” asked a voice.
“I mean to-night. I’ll have a car run you into London; but you’ll have to leave your kit behind, but you can afford that.”
“What are you going to do with the factory?”
“That’s my business,” said Jeff.
The proposal did not find universal favour, but they stood in such awe of the Big Printer that, though they demurred, they obeyed. By ten o’clock that night the prison was empty, except for Jeffrey and his assistant.
“I didn’t see Bill Holliss go,” said the latter; but Jeffrey Legge was too intent upon his plans to give the matter a moment’s thought.
“Maybe you’ll see yourself go now, Jenkins,” he said. “You can take your two-seater and run anywhere you like.”
“Let me stay till the morning,” asked the man.
“You’ll go to-night. Otherwise, what’s the use of sending the other fellows away?”
He closed the big gate upon the car. He was alone with his wife and with the man he hated. He could think calmly now. The madness of rage had passed. He made a search of a little store-room and found what he was looking for. It was a stout rope. With this over his arm, and a storm-lamp in his hand, he went out into the yard and came to a little shed built against the wall. Unlocking the rusty padlock, he pulled the doors apart. The shed was empty; the floor was inches thick with litter, and, going back, he found a broom and swept it clean. With the aid of a ladder he mounted to a beam that ran transversely across the roof, and fastened one end of the rope securely. Coming down, he spent half an hour in making a noose.
He was in the death house. Under his feet was the fatal trap that a pull of the rusty lever would spring. He wanted to make the experiment, but the trap would take a lot of time to pull up. His face was pouring with perspiration when he had finished. The night was close, and a flicker of lightning illuminated for a second the gloomy recesses of the prison yard.
As he entered the hall a low growl of thunder came to him, but the storm in his heart was more violent than any nature could provide.
He tiptoed up the iron stairs to the landing, and came at last to No. 4 and hesitated. His enemy could wait. Creeping down the stairs again, his heart beating thunderously, he stood outside the door of the condemned cell. The key trembled as he inserted it in the lock. No sound broke the stillness as the door opened stealthily, and he slipped into the room.
He waited, holding his breath, not knowing whether she were awake or asleep, and then crept forward to the bed. He saw the outline of a figure.
“Marney,” he said huskily, groping for her face.
And then two hands like steel clamps caught him by the throat and flung him backward.
“I want you, Jeffrey Legge,” said a voice—the voice of Johnny Gray.
CHAPTER XXXI
Johnny Gray came to consciousness with a violent headache and a sense of suffocating restriction, which he discovered was due to his wing collar holding tightly in spite of the rough usage that had been his. This fact would have been pleasing to Parker, but was intensely discomforting to the wearer, and in a minute he had stripped the offending collar from his throat and had risen unsteadily to his feet.
The room in which he was had a familiar appearance. It was a cell, and——
Keytown Jail! He remembered Fenner’s warning. So Fenner knew! Keytown Jail, sold by the Government to—Jeffrey Legge! The idea was preposterous; but why not? A timber merchant had bought a jail at Hereford; a firm of caterers had purchased an old prison in the North of England, and were serving afternoon teas in the cells.
Now he understood. Keytown Prison was the head-quarters of the Big Printer. The one place in the world that the police would never dream of searching, particularly if, as he guessed, Jeffrey Legge had offered some specious excuse for his presence and the presence of his company in this isolated part of the world.
The sound of voices came faintly up to him, and he heard a door bang and the clicking of locks; and with that sound he recalled the happenings of the evening. It must be Peter: they had got him too. In spite of his discomfiture, in spite of the awful danger in which he knew he was, he laughed softly to himself.
Above his bed was a window with scarcely a whole pane. But there was no escape that way. A thought struck him, and, leaning down, he tapped a Morse message on the floor. If it was Peter, he could understand. He heard the answering tap which came feebly, and when he signalled again he knew that whoever was in the cell below had no knowledge of the Morse code. He searched his pockets and found a tiny scrap of pencil, but could find no paper, except a bundle of five-pound notes, which his captors had not troubled to remove. Here was both stationery and the means of writing, but how could he communicate with the occupant of the cell below? Presently a plan suggested itself, and he tore off the lapel of his dinner-jacket and unravelled the silk. Tying the pencil to the end to give it weight, he slowly lowered his message, hoping, though it seemed unlikely, that his fellow prisoner would be able to see the paper.
To his joy he felt a tug, and when, a few minutes later, he carefully drew up the message, it was to find, written underneath his own, one which left him white and shaking.
Marney here! He groaned aloud at the thought. It was too light now to risk any further communication. There was a ewer of water and a basin in the cell, and with this he relieved the aching in his head; and when breakfast came, he was ready.
The man who brought in the tray was a stranger to him, as also was the man who stood on guard at the door, revolver in hand.
“What’s the great idea?” asked Johnny coolly, sitting on the bed and swinging his legs. “Has Jeff bought a jail to practise in? Wouldn’t it have been cheaper to have gone over the Alps?”
“You shut up, Johnny Gray,” growled the man. “You’ll be sorry for yourself before you’re out of here.”
“Who isn’t?” asked Johnny. “How is Peter?”
“You know damned well Peter has escaped,” said the other before he could check himself.
“Escaped!” said the delighted Johnny. “You don’t mean that?”
“Never mind what I mean,” growled the man, realising he had said too much. “You keep a civil tongue in your head, Gray, and you’ll be treated square. If you don’t, there are plenty of men on the spot to make Dartmoor a paradise compared with Keytown.”
The door slammed in Johnny Gray’s face, but he was so absorbed in the news which the man had unwillingly given to him that he had to force himself to eat.
Soon after the man came to take away the tray.
“What’s your name, bo’, anyway?” said Johnny carelessly. “I hate calling you ‘face’—it’s low.”
“Bill’s my name,” said the man, “and you needn’t call me Bill either. You say ‘sir’ to me.”
“Woof!” said Johnny admiringly. “You’re talking like a real screw!”
The door slammed in his face. He had further time to consider his plans. They had taken away his watch and chain, his gold cigarette-case and the small pen-knife he carried, but these losses did not worry him in the slightest. His chief anxiety was to know the exact character of Keytown Prison. And that he determined to learn at the earliest opportunity.
It was late in the afternoon; he guessed it was somewhere in the neighbourhood of four when his lunch came, and he was quite ready to eat it, though a little suspicious of its possible accessories.
“No poison in this, Bill?” he asked pleasantly as he took the bread and cheese from the man’s hand.
“There’s no need to poison you; we could starve you, couldn’t we?” said the other. “If Jeff was here, maybe I’d get a rapping for giving you anything.”
“Gone away, has he? Well, prisons are more pleasant when the governor’s away. Am I right, Bill? Now what do you say to a couple of hundred of real money?”
“For what?” asked the man, stopping at the door. “If you mean it’s for letting you make a get-away, why, you’re silly! You’re going to stay here till Jeff fixes you.”
All the day Johnny had heard, or rather felt, a peculiar whirr of sound coming from some remote quarter of the prison.
“Got electric light here, Bill?” he said conversationally.
“Yes, we have,” said the other. “This is a model boob, this is.”
“I’ll bet it is,” said Johnny grimly. “Are you running any electric radiators in my cell to-night, or do you want all the power for the press?”
He saw the man’s face twitch.
“Of course, you’re running the slush factory here—everybody knows that. Take my advice, Bill—go whilst the going’s good. Or the bulls will have you inside the realest boob you’ve seen.”
He had made the guard more than a little uncomfortable, as he saw, and sought to press home the impression he had created.
“Jeffrey’s going to shop you sooner or later, because he’s a natural born shopper. And he’s got the money, Bill, to get away with, and the motor-cars and aeroplanes. You haven’t got that. You’ll have to walk on your own pads. And the bulls will get you half-way over the field.”
“Oh, shut up!” said the man uncomfortably, and the conversation ended, as in the morning, with the slamming of the door.
Presently a little spy-hole in the cell door opened.
“What made you think this is a print-shop?” asked Bill’s voice.
“I don’t think anything about it; I know,” said Johnny decisively. “If you like to come to me this evening I’ll tell you the name of every worker here, the position of every press, and the length of the lagging you’ll get.”
The cover of the spy-hole dropped.
Jeffrey was away; that was all to the good. If he remained away for the whole of the night.… He was worried about Marney, and it required all his strength of will not to fret himself into a state of nerves.
In an hour Bill returned, and this time he brought no guard but himself, but, for safety’s sake, carried on his conversation through a little grille in the door.
“You’re bluffing, Johnny Gray. We’ve got a fellow here who was in boob with you, and he says you’re the biggest bluffer that ever lived. You don’t know anything.”
“I know almost everything,” said Johnny immodestly. “For instance, I know you’ve got a young lady in the cell below. How’s she doing?”
The man was taken aback for a moment.
“Who told you?” he asked suspiciously. “Nobody else has been here, have they?”
“Nobody at all. It is part of my general knowledge. Now listen, Bill. How are you treating that lady? And your life hangs on your answer—don’t forget it.”
“She’s all right,” said Bill casually. “They’ve given her the condemned cell, with a bathroom and all, and a proper bed—not like yours. And you can’t scare me, Gray.”
“I’ll bet I can’t,” said Johnny. “Bring me some water.”
But the water was not forthcoming, and it was dark before the man made his reappearance. Johnny listened at the door; he was coming alone. Johnny pulled up the leg of his trousers and showed those suspenders which were Parker’s pride. But they were not ordinary suspenders. Strapped to the inside of the calf was a small holster. The automatic it carried was less than four inches in length, but its little blunt-nosed bullets were man-stoppers of a peculiarly deadly kind.
The door swung open, and Bill stepped in.
“Jeff’s back——” he began, and then:
“Step in, and step lively,” said Johnny.
His arm had shot out, and the pistol hand of the jailer was pinned to his side.
“This gun may look pretty paltry, but it would blow a square inch out of your heart, and that’s enough to seriously inconvenience you for the remainder of your short life.”
With a turn of his wrist he wrenched the revolver from the man’s grasp.
“Sit over there,” he said. “Is anybody in the hall?”
“For God’s sake don’t let Jeff see you. He’ll kill me,” pleaded the agitated prisoner.
“I’d hate for him to do that,” said Johnny.
He peeped out into the hall: it was empty, and he went back to his prisoner.
“Stand against the wall. I’m going to give you the twice-over.”
His hands searched quickly but effectively. The key he was putting in his pocket when he noticed the design of the ward.
“Pass-key, I fancy. Now, don’t make a fuss, Bill, because you’ll be let out first thing in the morning, and maybe I’ll have a good word to say for you at the Oxford Assizes. There’s something about you that I like. Give me the simple criminal, and the Lord knows you’re simple enough!”
He stepped out of the cell, snapped the lock of the door, and, keeping in the shadow, walked swiftly along the gallery until he came to the open stairway on to the floor below.
The hall was untenanted. Apparently Bill was the only jailer. He had reached the floor when the door at the end of the hall opened and somebody came in. He flattened himself in one of the recessed cell doorways. Two men entered, and one, he guessed, was Jeff. One, two, three, four—the fourth door from the end. That was Marney’s door, immediately under his own. He saw Jeffrey stop, heard the too-familiar grind of the lock, and his enemy disappeared, leaving the second man on guard outside.
If Jeffrey had made an attempt to close the door behind him, Johnny would have shot down the guard and taken the consequences. But the man was absent for only a few minutes. When he came out, he was shouting incoherently threats that made the hair rise on Johnny Gray’s neck. But they were only threats.
The hall door closed on Jeffrey Legge and Johnny moved swiftly to No. 4. As the door opened, the girl shrank back against the wall.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried.
“Marney!”
At the sound of his voice she stood, rooted to the spot. The next second she was laughing and weeping in his arms.
“But, Johnny, how did you get here? … where were you? … you won’t leave me?”
He soothed her and quietened her as only Johnny Gray could.
“I’ll stay… I think this fellow will come back. If he does, he will wish he hadn’t!”
And Jeffrey came. As the grip of strong hands closed on his throat, and the hateful voice of his enemy came to his ears, Johnny’s prophecy was justified.
CHAPTER XXXII
For a second Legge was paralysed with rage and fear. Then, in the wildness of his despair, he kicked at the man, who had slipped from the bed and was holding him. He heard an exclamation, felt for a second the fingers relax; and, slipping like an eel from the grasp, flew to the door and closed it. He stood, breathless and panting, by the doorway, until he heard the sound of steel against the inner keyhole, and in a flash realised that Johnny had secured the pass-key. Quick as lightning, he slipped his own key back into the lock and turned it slightly, so that it could not be pushed out from the other side.
Johnny Gray! How had he got there? He fled up the stairs and hammered on the door of the cell where he thought his prisoner was held safe. A surly voice replied to him.
“You swine!” he howled. “You let him go! You twister! You can stay there and starve, damn you!”
“I didn’t let him go. He held me up. Look out, Jeff, he’s got a gun.”
The news staggered the man. The search of Johnny’s clothing had been of a perfunctory nature, but he had thought that it was impossible that any kind of weapon could have been concealed.
“Let me out, guv’nor,” pleaded the prisoner. “You’ve got a key.”
There was a third key in his house, Jeffrey remembered. Perhaps this man might be of use to him. He was still weak from his wound, and would need assistance.
“All right, I’ll get the key. But if you shopped me——”
“I didn’t shop you, I tell you. He held me up——”
Legge went back to his room, found the key, and, taking another stiff dose of whisky, returned and released his man.
“He’s got my gun, too,” explained Bill. “Where are all the fellows? We’ll soon settle with him.”
“They’ve gone,” said Jeffrey.
What a fool he had been! If he had had the sense to keep the gang together only for a few hours—— But he was safe, unless Johnny found a means of getting through the window.
“In my room you’ll find a pistol; it is in the top right-hand corner of my desk,” he said quickly. “Take it and get outside Johnny’s cell—on the yard side. If he tries to escape that way, shoot. Because, if he escapes, you’re going a long journey, my friend.”
Inside the cell, a chagrined Johnny Gray sat down on the girl’s bed to consider the possibilities of the position.
“My dear, there’s going to be serious trouble here, and I don’t want you to think otherwise,” he said. “I should imagine there were quite a number of men in this prison, in which case, though I shall probably get two or three of them, they’ll certainly get me in the end.”
She sat by his side, holding his hand, and the pressure of her fingers was eloquent of the faith she had in him.
“Johnny, dear, does it matter very much what happens now? They can’t come in, and we can’t get out. How long will it take to starve us to death?”
Johnny had already considered that problem.
“About three days,” he said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that she laughed. “My only hope, Marney, is that your father, who, as I told you, has escaped, may know more about this place than he has admitted.”
“Did you know anything about it?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“Yes, I think I did. I wasn’t sure, though I was a fool not to locate it just as soon as Fenner warned me against Keytown Jail. These chaps like to speak in parables, and mystery is as the breath of their nostrils. Besides, I should have been certain that Fenner knew the jail had been taken over from the Government.”
He made a careful examination of the bars about the window, but without instruments or tools to force them, he knew that escape that way was impossible. When, in the early hours of the morning, he saw the patient figure of Bill, he realised the extent of the impossibility.
“Good morning, William. I see you’re out,” he greeted the scowling sentry, who immediately jumped to cover, flourishing his long-barrelled weapon.
“Don’t you show your nose, or I’ll blow it off,” he threatened. “We’ve got you, Mr. Gray.”
“They’ve got you, alas, my poor William,” said Johnny sadly. “The busies will be here at nine o’clock—you don’t suppose that I should have let myself come into a trap like this? Of course, I didn’t. I squeaked! It was my only chance, William. And your only chance is to sneak away at the earliest opportunity, and turn State’s evidence. I’m addressing you as a friend.”
“You’ll never get away from here alive,” said the man. “Jeff’s going to fix you.”
“Indeed?” the prisoner began politely, when a scream made him turn.
“Johnny!”
The shutter which hid the grille in the door was swung back, and the muzzle of Jeffrey’s Browning had been pushed through one of the openings. As Johnny dropped flat on the bed, he was stunned by the deafening sound of an explosion. Something hit the wall, ricochetted to the roof, and fell almost at the girl’s feet. Before the pistol could be withdrawn, Johnny Gray had fired. A jagged end of iron showed where his bullet struck.
“The time for persiflage,” said Johnny cheerfully, “is past. Now you will sit in that corner, young lady, and will not budge without permission.” He pointed to the wall nearest the door, which afforded perfect cover, and, dragging up a stool, he seated himself by her side. “Jeffrey’s got quite a tough proposition,” he said in his conversational tone. “He can’t burn the prison, because there’s nothing to burn. He can’t come in, and he mustn’t go out. If he would only for one moment take away that infernal key——”
“There is another door going out from the bath-room,” she said suddenly. “I think it leads to an exercise ground. You can just see a little railed-off space through the window.”
Johnny went into the bath-room and examined the door. Screwing his head, he could see, through a broken pane, ten square yards of space, where in olden times a condemned prisoner took his exercise, removed from the gaze of his fellows. He tried the key, and, to his delight, it turned. Another minute and he was in the little, paved yard.
Looking round, he saw a high and narrow gateway, which seemed to be the only exit from the courtyard. And on the other side of that gateway was William, the sentry, well-armed and sufficiently terrified to be dangerous. Slipping off his boots, Johnny crept to the gate and listened. The sound of the man’s footsteps pacing the flagged walk came to him. Stooping, he squinted through the keyhole, and saw Bill standing, his back toward him, some six yards away. There was no time to be lost. He inserted the key, and the gate was opened before the man could turn to face the levelled revolver.
“Don’t shout,” whispered Johnny. “You’re either discreet or dead. Hand over that gun, you unfortunate man.” He moved swiftly toward the terrified criminal, and relieved him of his weapon.
With a gesture, Johnny directed him to the exercise yard.
“Get in and stay,” he said, and locked the door, and for the second time, Bill (his other name, Johnny never discovered, was Holliss) was a prisoner.
Skirting the building, he came to the entrance of the hall. The door was open, and with his hand on the uplifted hammer of the gun, and his finger pressing the trigger, Johnny leapt into the building.
“Hands up!” he shouted.
At the words, Jeffrey Legge spun round. There was a boom of sound, something whistled past Gray’s face, and he fired twice. But now the man was running, zigzagging to left and right, and Johnny hesitated to fire. He disappeared through the door at the farther end of the hall, shutting it behind him, and Johnny raced after him.
He was in the courtyard now, facing the grille-covered archway. As he came into view, Jeffrey disappeared through the lodge-keeper’s door. Johnny tried the grille, but in vain, for a pass-key operates on all locks save the lock of the entrance gate of a prison. That alone is distinct, and may not be opened save by the key that was cut for it.
Covering the lodge-keeper’s door with his gun, Johnny waited, and, waiting, heard a rumbling sound. Something was coming down the centre of the archway. The straight line of it came lower and lower. A hanging gate! He had forgotten that most old country prisons were so equipped. Under the cover of this ancient portcullis, Legge could escape, for it masked the entrance of the lodge.
He turned back to the girl.
“Keep out of sight. He’s got away,” he warned her. “This fellow isn’t finished yet.”
The gate was down. Jeffrey put on the overcoat he had left in the lodge, slipped his pistol into his pocket and opened the great gates. He had at least a dozen hours’ start, he thought, as he stepped into the open.…
“Please do not put your hand in your pocket, Mr. Jeffrey,” said a plaintive voice. “I should so hate to shoot a fellow creature. It would be a deed utterly repugnant to my finest feelings.”
Jeffrey raised his hands to their fullest extent, for Mr. Reeder was not alone. Behind him were four armed policemen, a cordon of mounted constabulary, spread in a semicircle, cutting off all avenues of escape. And, most ominous of all, was the deadly scrutiny of Peter Kane, who stood at Reeder’s right hand.
CHAPTER XXXIII
For the first time Jeffrey Legge felt the cold contact of handcuffs. He was led back to the porter’s lodge, whilst two of the policemen worked at the windlass that raised the hanging gate.
“It’s a cop, Craig,” he said, for the inspector in charge was that redoubtable thief-catcher. “But I’m going to squeak all I know. Johnny Gray is in this. He’s been working my slush for years. You’ll find the presses in the second hall, but the other birds have done some quick flying.”
“They’ve all flown into the police station at Oxford,” said Craig, “and they’re singing their pretty little songs merrily. The Oxford police took a whole carload of them about eleven o’clock last night. Unfortunately, they weren’t so ready to squeak as you.”
“Johnny Gray’s in it, I tell you.”
“Oh, how can you say such a thing?” said the shocked Mr. Reeder. “I’m perfectly sure Mr. Gray is quite innocent.”
Jeffrey regarded him with a sneer of contempt.
“You’re a pretty funny ‘busy.’ I suppose Craig brought you here?”
“No,” murmured Mr. Reeder, “I brought myself here.”
“The only thing I can say about you,” said Jeffrey Legge, “is that you’re smarter than old Golden—and that’s not saying much.”
“Not very much,” murmured Mr. Reeder.
“But you’re not smart enough to know that Johnny Gray has been in this business for years.”
“Even while he was in prison?” suggested Mr. Reeder innocently. “The opportunities are rather restricted, don’t you think? But don’t let us quarrel, Mr. Jeffrey.”
The portcullis was raised now, and in a few minutes the girl was in her father’s arms.
“Johnny, you’ve had a narrow squeak,” said Craig, as he shook the man’s hand, “and there’s some talk about you being in this slush business, but I’ll not believe it till I get proof.”
“Who killed old Legge?” asked Johnny.
The detective shook his head.
“We don’t know. But Stevens has disappeared, and Stevens was Fenner’s brother. I got it from Mr. Reeder, who seems to have remarkable sources of information.”
“Not at all,” disclaimed the apologetic Reeder. “I certainly have a remarkable source of information, and to that all credit must go. But I think you will confirm my statement, John, that Stevens is Fenner’s brother?”
To Peter’s surprise, Johnny nodded.
“Yes, I knew they were brothers; and it is unnecessary to say that their name was neither Stevens nor Fenner. It is pretty well established that the old man gave away Fenner—shopped him for the Berkeley Square job—and possibly Stevens got to know of this, and had been waiting his opportunity to settle accounts with Emanuel. Have you caught him?”
“Not yet,” said Craig.
“I hope you won’t,” said Johnny. “What are you going to do about me, Peter?”
He put his arm round the girl’s shoulder, and Peter smiled.
“I suppose I’ll have to let her marry you, Johnny, whether you’re a crook or honest. I want you to go straight, and I’ll make it worth while——”
“That I can promise you.” It was Mr. Reeder who spoke. “And may I offer an apology. I’m rather a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or a sheep in wolf’s clothing. The truth is, my name is Golden.”
“Golden!” gasped Craig. “But I thought Golden was out of this business?”
“He is out of it, and yet he is in it,” explained Mr. Reeder carefully. “I am an excellent office man,” he confessed, in that mincing manner of his, staring owlishly over his glasses, “but a very indifferent seeker of information, and although, when Mr. John Gray Reeder was appointed over me as chief inspector of my department——”
“Here, stop!” said the dazed Craig. “John Gray Reeder? Who is Inspector John Gray Reeder?”
Mr. Golden’s hand went out in the direction of the smiling Johnny.
“Johnny! You a ‘busy’!” said the bewildered Peter. “But you went to jail sure enough?”
“I certainly went to jail,” said Johnny. “It was the only place I could get any news about the Big Printer, and I found out all I wanted to know. It was a trying two years, but well worth it, though I nearly lost the only thing in the world that made life worth living,” he said. “You’ve got to forgive me, Peter, because I spied on you—a good spy doesn’t play favourites. I’ve been watching you and every one of your pals, and I watched Marney most of all. And now I’m going to watch her for years and years!”
“You see,” said Mr. Golden, who seemed most anxious to exculpate himself from any accusation of cleverness, “I was merely the listener-in, if I may use a new-fangled expression, to the information which John broadcasted. I knew all about this marriage, and I was the person who appointed a woman detective to look after her at the Charlton Hotel—but on Johnny’s instructions. That is why he was able to prove his alibi, because naturally, that section of the police which knows him, is always ready to prove alibis for other officers of the police who are mistakenly charged with being criminals.”
“How did you guess about the prison?”
“Fenner squeaked,” said Mr. Golden with a gesture of deprecation. “ ‘Squeak’ is not a word I like, but it is rather expressive. Yes, Fenner squeaked.”
Two happy people drove home together in the car which had brought Marney to Keytown. The country between Oxford and Horsham is the most beautiful in the land. The road passes through great aisles of tall trees, into which a car may be turned and be hidden from the view of those who pass along the road. Johnny slowed the machine at an appropriate spot, and put it toward the thickest part of the wood. And Marney, who sat with folded hands by his side, did not seek any explanation for his eccentricity.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
The Arrow Books Ltd. edition (London, 1961) was consulted for many of the changes listed below.
Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. bathroom/bath-room, cigarette case/cigarette-case, etc.) have been preserved.
Alterations to the text:
Abandon the use of drop-caps.
Add ToC.
Place the two footnotes in brackets inline with the text.
Fix some quotation mark pairings and some missing periods.
Relabel the second Chapter XXIX to Chapter XXXII.
[Chapter I]
Change “Marney is marrying Major Foyd, of Toronto, and I know” to Floyd.
[Chapter II]
“probably squawed huskily in his cradle” to squawked.
[Chapter IV]
“Had be been recognised? Apparently not,” to he.
[Chapter VI]
(“They used to have an office man named Golder once)” to Golden.
[Chapter VII]
(“I can turn Mr. Jeffery Legge into Dartmoor Jail,”) to Jeffrey.
[Chapter VIII]
“Parker who opened the door to him, asked no questions.” add comma after Parker.
[Chapter X]
(“Thank you I would rather remain here.”) add comma after you.
(“You’re double-crossed me, you dirty thief!) to You’ve.
“peeled five, which he flung on on to the table.” delete one on.
[Chapter XI]
(“If you had said five thousand pound,” Mr. Reeder went on) to pounds.
[Chapter XII]
“which also belonged exclusively to the Highlows was the basement” to Highlow.
“why Emanuel should be respected at the Highlows” to Highlow.
“The porter who was a big ex-prize fighter, expressly engaged” add comma after porter.
“even in the tolerant society of the Highlows” to Highlow.
[Chapter XVI]
(“I know, to my sorrow,” said Peter Kane prompty.) to promptly.
[Chapter XIX]
(“Oh, you’re mutty to think it!”) to nutty.
[Chapter XXV]
“to wipe the moisture whch had condensed upon the lenses” to which.
[Chapter XXXI]
“John listened at the door; he was coming alone” to Johnny.
[End of text]