Chapter NINETEEN: The Man Behind the Curtain

It was the last day the police were in occupation of the house, and he was fortunate in finding the sergeant who had been there when Arthur Wilmot had paid his visit.

“No, sir, I think he was in the bedroom most of the time. He wasn’t there long,” said that official in reply to a question.

Andy went up the stairs two at a time. He had visited the bedroom three or four times. Again he made his scrutiny. Instinctively he knew that the hiding-place was somewhere in the vicinity of the bed. The shield and the Tudor rose attracted his attention by reason of the fact that whilst on the footpost the flat end of the petal was exactly straight and at right angles to the upright post, on the other post it had been twisted askew. He bent down, first pulled, then turned the florette. It clicked, and he pulled open an empty drawer.

It was not exactly empty, he found, when he had pulled it right out—it ran for eighteen inches into the seemingly solid side supports—there was a slip of paper on which three sets of figures were written. The first was £6,700 and this had been crossed out. The second was £6,500. This, too, had been crossed out, and written beneath it were the ciphers £6,370. The difference was £130. The price of the ring! Andrew was sure of one thing, that it was in this drawer that the bills had been concealed, and with them the “marriage certificate of an old servant,” and—he whistled; £6,370!

A methodical man was Mr. Merrivan. He kept account of the money that was in the drawer, and when he extracted any he crossed out the total and substituted the new sum that was left. If he could be sure! Andy’s eyes sparkled.

He went back to the girl feeling almost cheerful and found her sitting where he had left her.

“Andy, you are not to dream of resigning,” she said as he came into the room. “I will write down a statement telling the truth, and will give it to you.”

“And how are you going to explain Scottie?” asked Andy, and her jaw dropped. “No, my dear, we are living examples of that jolly old adage which deals with deceivers and the webs they weave, and we are so interlocked that one of us can’t come down without the other. Anyway, I shan’t resign. We’ll let the matter slide until I hear what headquarters are doing.”

Now police headquarters is so inured to newspaper criticism that it grows uneasy if it is withheld. Moreover, there existed between headquarters and the _Megaphone_ a coolness over the publication of an indiscreet paragraph which had sent a much-wanted company promoter scuttling abroad.

Andy was sent for, and, going up to town, spent two hours with his immediate chief, and the end of it was that he came back with his authority strengthened. He found a semi-apologetic note from Downer, which was not like the reporter.

Mr. Nelson had returned, had read the paper, and searched Beverley Green with a hunting crop looking for Mr. Downer and the absent Arthur Wilmot, and in the end had been quieted by Scottie.

“It is monstrous, monstrous, Macleod,” he raved, to the undoing of all Scottie’s good work. “I’ll sue those people for libel, by gad! and I’ll break that fellow’s infernal head.”

“You can do as you like about the libel,” said Andy, “but you will put me in a very awkward position if you interfere at this moment, Mr. Nelson. I will undertake to weaken the assurance of Downer. I dare say he has a very hot one ready for us to-morrow, but, unless I am mistaken, that will not be printed. You attack reporters in exactly the same manner as you attack juries. You shake the credibility of their witnesses. And I am going to give Arthur Wilmot the shock of his life to-night.”

Mr. Arthur Wilmot had found in Downer a man of sensibility and judgment. He was not, he told Downer several times, the kind of man who made sudden friendships. Downer agreed with him; he had never had that illusion. In fact, the first time he had seen Mr. Arthur Wilmot he had said: “There goes a man of singular judgment and a difficult man to know.”

He beamed benevolently at the object of his admiration. They were dining in a private room at the Beverley Hotel, which had the advantage, from Mr. Wilmot’s point of view, of being away from Beverley Green, and from Mr. Downer’s point of view the advantage of being near to the telegraph office.

“That article of yours was a little bit fierce this morning, wasn’t it, Downer?” he asked.

It was a question he had put before.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Downer indifferently. “It puts the young lady in an awkward position, but, after all, Mr. Wilmot, we have certain responsibilities as citizens, and, whilst I do not suggest, and have not suggested for one moment, that she knows anything about the murder, she certainly has behaved in a peculiar manner.”

“I quite agree,” said Arthur. “The point I want to make is this—I want to avoid, as far as possible, any hint that I gave you this information. When I told you I saw her going into the house you promised me that my name should not be mentioned.”

“In that connection,” corrected the other. “You may be sure that I shall not put a word about you in any account I write which will compromise you to the slightest degree. You haven’t told me any of your private business, Mr. Wilmot, because you are one of those reticent people who don’t wear their hearts on their sleeves, but I’ve got an idea at the back of my mind that this young lady hasn’t treated you very well?”

“She hasn’t,” said the other shortly, “but don’t let us talk about it. I don’t bear her any grudge, but, as you say, we have certain duties as citizens.”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Downer.

They strolled back to the green, following the path that was farthest away from the Nelsons. Downer was getting a little impatient; he had quite a number of new facts, but just this once he wanted Wilmot’s permission before he sent them off. Later, when all the threads were in his hands, he would dispense with his permission and approval.

The hour was getting late, and, although a wire was kept open for him at the post office, he had still a lot of work to do.

He accepted Arthur Wilmot’s invitation to “Come in for a minute or two” as his right, and his host ushered him into the apartment where Andy had seen the unfinished lady’s hat.

It was a good-sized corner room, with two large stained glass windows set in deep recesses, across which blue velvet curtains were drawn. Wilmot had told the truth when he said that no servant was allowed in this room, for he had to unlock the door before he opened it.

“There you are,” he said, switching on all the lights. “Take a seat, Downer. That’s a comfortable one. Will you have a drink?”

“No, thank you,” said Mr. Downer. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. Now, what about this girl? I must follow up to-day’s story. Have you any reason to believe that Macleod is sweet on her?”

“One moment,” said Wilmot, and, getting up, he went to the curtains at the far end of the room and drew them aside. “I thought I felt a draught. The infernal window is open. Heaven knows who might have been listening. Now, who the devil did that?” He made the window fast, rearranged the curtains, and came back. “That is a point I don’t want to touch on,” he said. “She is a very impressionable girl at a romantic age, and the fellow has probably fascinated her.”

“Then there is something between them?” asked the alert Downer.

“There is a kind of——” Wilmot hesitated. “I hardly know what to call it. Put it this way; he is a man much older than the lady, and he has used his wiles and his art——”

“I don’t think I should put it that way,” said Mr. Downer gently. “There are certain limitations imposed, even upon a crime reporter. Shall we say that a great friendship has sprung up between them? The reader will know what that means. It will give the idea that he has got entangled with this girl.”

It was at that moment that a gentle knock sounded on the door and a maid-servant came in.

“Will you see Mr. Macleod?” she asked.

The two men exchanged glances, and Downer nodded.

“Show him in,” said Wilmot, wetting his lips, which had gone suddenly dry.

“Evening, Downer. Good evening, Mr. Wilmot.”

Andy put down his hat and stood by the door eyeing them.

“Won’t you sit down, Macleod?” asked Wilmot nervously. “You know Mr. Downer?”

“I know him remarkably well,” said Andy, without enthusiasm.

“You are not wild about my article, are you, Macleod?” asked Downer, in well-feigned surprise. “You are too old a hand at this game to worry about what newspapers say.”

“This, I presume,” Andy nodded towards Wilmot, “is the source of your information?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Downer.

“God knows you wouldn’t!” said Andy. “I’ll say this for you, Downer, that in your articles you tell as near to the truth as possible, and it is about the only time you do. This morning you printed a lot of stuff which was designed”—Downer smiled—“to defeat the ends of justice. Don’t interrupt. I have never said this to you before, and it is extremely unlikely that I shall ever tell you again. Miss Nelson may or may not take an action against your paper, but, if she does, it will cost them twenty thousand.”

“The statements I have made are authenticated.”

“By whom? By this man?” Andy pointed to the scowling Wilmot. “I am going to show you just how much reliance you can place upon Wilmot.” He walked over to where Wilmot was sitting and looked down at him. “I have come to make enquiries as to the whereabouts of £6,370, extracted from the secret drawer in Mr. Merrivan’s bed-stead.”

Wilmot leapt to his feet as though he were shot.

“What—what?” he spluttered.

“There are also other documents stolen by you.”

“Stolen?” repeated Wilmot shrilly. “What do you mean? I am my uncle’s heir.”

“Stolen by you, I repeat, and as to being your uncle’s heir, that is a matter for the courts to decide. There was also a marriage certificate——” He was watching the other narrowly as he spoke, and saw him start. “Now, Wilmot, there seems to be serious trouble ahead for you. What are you going to do about it?”

Arthur Wilmot was breathing painfully. He was for the moment incapable of speech, and Andrew turned to the reporter.

“Does it occur to you that this man may be suspect, and that you may be accused of conspiring with him to throw suspicion upon an innocent woman?”

“I am not in this case at all,” said Downer loudly. He was thoroughly alarmed. “I am merely reporting the events as I find them.”

“You are doing a little to invent those events,” said Andy, “and, so far as your being a disinterested spectator, Downer, you are a participant. The inference which must be drawn is that you knew of this theft——”

“I won’t have it called a theft,” interrupted Wilmot, finding his voice. “I admit I took several things from my uncle’s drawer. It was his wish that I should.”

“Did you report the matter to his lawyer?” asked Andy drily.

“That was not necessary.”

“Indeed, it was very necessary,” corrected Andy.

“I took these things because I was afraid of their falling into the hands of the servants.”

“What was there?” asked Andy.

“If you had come to me before I would have handed them over to you,” Wilmot was going on.

“What were they?” asked Andy.

“There was a marriage certificate, a sum of money—I think it was the amount you mentioned, though I haven’t counted it—a list of securities, and——” He paused, and went on deliberately, “Two forged bills drawn by Mr. Nelson in favour of Abraham Selim and accepted by my uncle. The acceptance was a forgery. Those bills were stolen from me by a criminal in your employ, and are probably destroyed.”

“When did the robbery occur?” asked Andy.

“Two nights ago.”

“Did you report it?”

“No; you know very well I didn’t report it.”

“Why not?” asked Andy coolly. “The law protects you as much as it protects any other man. You don’t expect me to believe that you would be robbed of valuable securities and never mention a word, although the place is teaming with police officers?”

Wilmot was silent.

“Anyway, we’ll see these things. Have you got them?”

“I’ve got them here in this wall safe,” said Wilmot sulkily.

He took a bunch of keys from his pocket and began searching.

“Where the devil is the key of the safe?” he said.

Andy suspected him of wilfully procrastinating for some purpose, but the man’s surprise was genuine. He could not have simulated that look of blank dismay which spread over his face as he handled key after key.

“It was on my ring this afternoon when I was at the bathing pool,” he said. “It hasn’t left me except then.”

He pulled aside the sliding panel that hid the safe.

“The safe door isn’t fastened,” said Andy.

With an exclamation Wilmot opened the door of the safe and put in his hand.

“Good Lord!” he gasped, relieved. “I thought somebody had stolen it.”

He threw the pocket-book on the table.

“The other documents,” said Andy.

“Here is the list of securities, and here——” He groped, and Andy saw a look of bewilderment come to his face. “I’ll swear I put it there.”

“What?”

“The marriage certificate is gone!”

It happened that at that moment Andy turned his head toward the door. Between the door and the curtained recess were three electric switches that controlled the lights of the room. As he looked he saw a hand come out from behind the curtains and move towards the switches. He was momentarily paralysed with surprise at the strangeness of the sight. There was a click, and the room was plunged into darkness. Another instant and the glare of an electric lamp thrust into their faces blinded them.

“Don’t move,” said a husky voice. “If you do I’ll shoot, whether you are policeman, reporter, or just plain thief.”

“Who are you?” asked Andy sternly.

“My name is Abraham Selim,” said the voice.

Another moment and the door opened and closed; they heard the snap of the key being turned in the lock and the thud of the front door as it slammed behind the intruder.

Andy tore to the window in front of the house and pulled aside the curtains. Through Wilmot’s stained glass panes nothing would have been visible even if it had been broad daylight. By the time the window was open and Andy had slipped through into the night all sign of the visitor had disappeared.

Presently Wilmot and the reporter joined him outside. The servant, answering Wilmot’s furious bell, had released them.

“Another adventure of your friend Scottie,” said Wilmot between his teeth.

Andy turned his head towards the speaker.

“My friend Scottie, as you call him, would hardly have left £6,000 behind him, and of one thing I am perfectly certain—he does not indulge in the luxury of a manicure!”

Andy’s shrill whistle brought a policeman at the run.

“Send the sergeant to me and telephone your station to turn out every man for a search. Get any assistance you can. Rush!”