Chapter XXVIII

Margaret woke that morning with a fixed determination. She had fenced with the detective and once or twice had been badly pinked. He was too shrewd a man, too wise in the artless guile which passes in criminal circles for clever evasion, to be deceived by her. Her hypothetical case he demolished, and revealed with alarming clearness the figure and deeds of Luke. He did not say as much; he did not even connect the missing banker with the Taffanny robbery. All that he knew was that Luke Maddison had made a fool of himself, that somebody had got hold of the fact and was trying to blackmail his wife; but what shape that folly took he regarded as indelicate to inquire.

When she found herself cornered, and the facts which she was trying to conceal coming to light, in sheer desperation Margaret had been forced to accept the suggestion of a woman, though she loathed herself for her new disloyalty. She spoke vaguely of an earlier attachment, but since she was a bad liar she carried no conviction. The very fact that she was not speaking the truth in reality saved her from closer questioning. The Sparrow jumped to a conclusion which was wrong.

“The only thing I can tell you, Mrs. Maddison, is that, whatever happens, you’re not to pay anybody anything. If it’s Danty or Connor, or whoever it is putting the black on you, you’ve only to ring me up to stop ’em!”

He left with the definite assurance that she would take this step.

She had to force herself to go to bed that night, and will herself to sleep. She had a heavy day ahead of her and no plans definitely fixed. The Gunner had told her nothing except that he was in touch with Luke. Had he told her that he was trying to get him out of England? If he hadn’t, she had in some occult way received that impression.

Luke would make for Ronda, whither his check book had been sent. She must follow him--accompany him if possible. She went early to the bank and saw Stiles. He was--for Stiles--in an optimistic frame of mind. Two or three undertakings in which the bank was interested had become flourishing.

“One I had written down as a bad debt and it looks as if it would bring in eighteen thousand a year,” he almost chortled the news. “I wish you’d let Mr. Maddison know that: he’ll be delighted. I’d have sent him a wire to Spain, only I don’t know his address.”

And then, realizing that her appearance at this hour was unusual:

“Is there anything you want, Mrs. Maddison?”

“I want to see my husband’s private account. You had it transferred to the bank.”

He took her into his private room, brought the pass book to her, and she ran her finger down the column. The last check drawn was a few days before his wedding. Since then, Stiles told her, no check had come in.

“I’ve been expecting some in. Mr. Maddison is rather extravagant at times, and I’m surprised that he hasn’t cashed a check--although of course he’s got his Spanish account--but I should have thought he would wish to replenish that.”

“That is what I’ve come to see you about, Stiles,” she said. “I want you not to honour any check drawn by my husband for any amount over a thousand pounds.”

Stiles stared at her over his glasses. This was the resolution she had reached as she lay in bed on the previous night. She had gone over every possibility step by step, had seen the likelihood of the blackmailers transferring their attention from her to Luke. At present Luke was safe under the protection of the Gunner; but something might happen to remove him from this watchful, hawk-faced man.

Somehow, for a reason which she could not understand, she trusted the Gunner implicitly--was sure that whatever his record might be he would do no harm to Luke.

“That’s an extraordinary request you’re making, Mrs. Maddison,” said Stiles, troubled. “It’s quite likely that Mr. Maddison may want to make a big purchase--the last time he was in Spain he bought some property in Seville that showed a profit of fifty per cent. the first year.”

She nodded.

“I realize that, but I still make this request--in his name.”

“Very good, Mrs. Maddison.”

Stiles scribbled some instructions on a slip of paper and pinned it to the ledger he had brought in.

“I don’t know what’s in your mind, but I understood that you had transferred everything back to Mr. Maddison----”

“It isn’t that,” she explained hastily. “It’s the possibility of----”

But here she was at a loss; she could not offer any explanation which an intelligent man would accept unless the whole story were revealed.

Her car was parked in Waterloo Place and she was waiting while the commissionaire brought it, when, turning her head, she saw a man standing at the corner whose attitude had something familiar about it. He was still there when the commissionaire returned with the car, and she had to pass the loiterer. It was then that she saw his face and tapped at the window. He saw her, too, and for once Gunner Haynes’s sang-froid deserted him and he looked uncomfortable. The car pulled up with a jerk; she beckoned the man toward her and he came reluctantly.

“Will you drive with me, please?” she asked a little breathlessly. “There are one or two questions I want to settle.”

He hesitated.

“It won’t do you very much good, Mrs. Maddison, to be seen driving with me.”

“Come in, please,” she ordered imperiously, and he stepped in and sat down by her side.

Through the microphone she gave an order to the driver.

“I want to see my husband,” she said, when this was done.

The Gunner shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s going to be very useful to you. Too many people have seen him already.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded, and she saw Haynes’s face harden.

“I tried to get him away this morning by the early mail. Two of Connor’s men were there to head him off; I don’t know how they did it, but they’d persuaded a couple of dicks--detectives--to watch the barriers, and I didn’t dare chance it. I tried again at eleven o’clock and I didn’t have any better luck. Of course, Connor guessed, when I took the passport, what I was going to do.”

“When you took the passport?” she said in surprise. “When did you take the passport?”

The Gunner deftly slid round the question.

“Your husband’s getting a bit on my mind and is interfering with my lawful occasions.” There was a faint smile in his eyes as he said this.

“Were you waiting at the bank to see me?”

He smiled again.

“As a matter of fact, Mrs. Maddison, I didn’t even know you were there, and didn’t realize it was the bank. The truth is--” he seemed more uncomfortable still--“there’s a young lady who comes to this part of the world, and I occasionally take tea with her. I think she’s more interested in me as a criminal and a source of copy than in anything else.” He smiled wryly. “But I’m very grateful to have the opportunity of meeting a decent girl. She’s a newspaper woman, as they call ’em in America, and she covers some of these West End functions.”

Margaret laughed softly. It was the first time she had laughed for a very long while.

“Poor Mr. Haynes! I’m terribly sorry if I’ve robbed you of a tête-à-tête.”

He shook his head.

“No, there was no possibility of her coming--it’s too late. And of course, there’s always the chance that that obese Sparrow might be with her.”

“You’re talking of Mr. Bird--and the girl’s name is Bolford.”

He started.

“Did you know?” he gasped, and then: “Oh, of course, she has met you. She told me once. No, there’s no romance in it, Mrs. Maddison, just a congenial--” he shrugged--“friendship. I am thankful for small mercies.”

“Are you married?” she asked.

“I was,” was the short reply, and she did not feel encouraged to pursue her inquiries.

“Can I see my husband? I think I should, don’t you?”

He looked at her oddly.

“Does it strike you as a possibility that he might not want to see you?” he asked bluntly, and saw the red come into her cheeks.

“I--I have blinded myself wilfully to that possibility,” she said.

“But he is in trouble, and a wife’s place is by her husband’s side,” he mocked, and for a moment she hated him.

Then her sense of humour overcame her annoyance.

“Yes, we’ll put it like that. It sounds terribly trite, but most trite things are true.”

The Gunner was silent for a long time, but presently he sighed.

“I’ve got an idea that whatever I’m doing is quite wrong, and that I ought to let you help him. Mrs. Maddison, it’s going to be a very difficult thing to get this husband of yours away out of England. You’re going to say ‘aëroplane’--I can see it in your eyes--but you can bet that Connor has got his people at Croydon, too. The only thing to do is to smuggle him away in a motor-car to a seaside place, hire a yacht, and push him across the Channel. It’s not going to be easy, especially as he’s not terribly keen on your giving him any help at all.”

She pondered this as the car went slowly round the park.

“I’ll take the risk of a snub,” she said, “if you’ll take the risk of offending him. Will you let me see him?”

Haynes nodded.

“Yes, but you’re not going to take this expensive car, Mrs. Maddison--into my neighbourhood, I mean. We’ll stop the car at Hyde Park Corner and get a taxi.”

This they did.

“The only thing that’s troubling me,” he said as they were driving along Piccadilly, “is whether Connor has tailed me to my home. ‘Tail’ is slang for ‘trail.’”

“You think they followed you there? Didn’t they know where you live?”

“They know many places I live,” explained the Gunner whimsically, “but this is one they don’t know, or didn’t until this morning.”

They paid off the cab two hundred yards from the model dwelling where Haynes had his home, and at that hour fortunately there were few people about, and certainly none who seemed to evince the slightest curiosity in the presence of this well-dressed woman. They had to pass through a little gateway to reach the asphalt square that formed the quadrangle of the huge block, and she saw the Gunner look back; there was trouble in his face.

“They’ve tailed me all right,” he said grimly. “Did you see that motor-van on the street outside? The man at the wheel was one of Connor’s little friends. You won’t see him now--he’s gone. Connor uses motor-vans a lot.”

As he was mounting the few steps which led to the landing from which his flat opened, a slatternly woman came out of a door opposite.

“I suppose it’s all right taking your wardrobe away, Mr. What’s-your-name?” she said.

The Gunner spun round.

“Took my wardrobe? What do you mean?”

“The men from the furniture place came about an hour ago--two chaps in green aprons. They had the key so I thought it was all right.”

The Gunner asked no further questions: he opened the door and ran into the passage. The door of Luke’s room was open. He looked at the disorder, saw the bloodstained sheets, and turned to meet the white face of Margaret Maddison.

“I’m afraid your husband’s gone,” he said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that she was deceived.

He closed the door behind him and led her into the little sitting room.

“He won’t be back till late, so I don’t think it’s worth while your staying.”

“How do you know?” she asked. “Why were you so worried when they talked about the wardrobe being taken away?”

“An old wardrobe that I sold,” said the Gunner. “It’s not worth while keeping stuff that isn’t much use to you.”

He chatted with her pleasantly before he took her away and, finding another cab, sent her home. She could not guess that he knew in his heart that the wardrobe contained the body of Luke Maddison. Whether he was alive or dead he must find out. After he had left the girl Gunner Haynes went back to his room, rolled up the carpet, took up a floor-board, and, groping, found a box containing two small automatics. One of these he slipped in a specially constructed inside pocket of his coat; the other went into a small holster which buckled to his braces.

“I think there is going to be some trouble to-night,” said Gunner Haynes, addressing nobody in particular.