"You're quite sure about there being no evidence quite sure?" Jimmie felt an uneasy thrill run down his spine. "I could justify your arrest a whole lot if I wanted to. This, for example, would almost do by itself." He held up the revolver. "You were carrying an automatic yesterday. Now it's a revolver and a revolver, moreover, with the initials J. E. G.-S. engraved on it the revolver that used to belong to Mr. Greve- Stratton." He swung it carelessly to and fro by the muzzle.
Jimmie started. "You don't say?" he exclaimed. "Why, I got it "He paused.
"You got it from Ling," filled in the detective. "Quite so." He broke it apart and squinted through it. "There's three chambers been recently fired." He looked up enquiringly. "Go on."
There was just the right touch of expectation in his voice and manner as though he took it for granted that Hallett intended to continue his explanation. But Jimmie had no intention of doing so. He had been surprised into half an admission, but he was to be drawn no further. It might be that nothing he could reveal could affect the course of events, but having given his word to Peggy he intended to remain silent. He was scarcely prepared to admit even what the lawyers call common ground.
"You're doing very well by yourself," he commented. "You don't need my help."
There had been little serious intention behind Weir Menzies' threat of arrest. On the face of things, as he had explained, he could have justified the action. Nor would he have hesitated had he believed that any real good would come of it. He would have been as ruthless of Jimmie Hallett's feelings as he was of his own energies if thereby he could have gained a step. Of course Hallett's infatuation that was Menzies' private word for it had been a stumbling-block and it would be still advisable to look after him. But to put him under lock and key would be to seal his lips utterly Menzies had judged his character aright in that and if treated in another fashion he might yet be useful. Nevertheless, the threat was a bludgeon to be used if necessary.
He put the revolver aside and went on with his inspection. He hesitated over the letters and then, with a muttered apology, opened one. There were four all told and he steadily ploughed through them. "Ling must be very fond of you," he observed with heavy irony. "Not only have you the pistol, but some of his personal letters. Lord!" he burst out, "what game were you playing last night? I'd give a lot to know. You certainly have the knack of dropping into the thick of things."
"Yes, there were some letters," agreed Jimmie coolly. "I haven't had time to read them. Anything of importance in them?"
"There are no addresses," evaded Menzies, "and he doesn't seem to have saved the envelopes, so we can't tell where he received them."
A knock at the door heralded the appearance of Royal, who nodded a genial good morning to Hallett and then glided unobtrusively to a seat. Menzies twisted the letters in his hand with an air of uncertainty.
"I've got two courses open to me," he explained to Hallett. "One, as I said just now, to arrest you. The other is to take your word that you won't attempt to leave your rooms here nor to send any message to anyone until I see you again. In that case I should leave Royal here with you."
"You've got an everlastingly cool nerve," observed Jimmie.
"Hang it, man, what do you expect?" said the other impatiently. "The alternative is more than ninety-nine men out of a hundred would offer you."
Jimmie shrugged his shoulders resignedly. He saw Menzies' difficulty saw also that the chief inspector was determined at any cost to keep him out of the game. Inwardly he writhed at his own impotence. If he could only have got one word to Peggy Greye-Stratton....
Outwardly he was philosophic. "No cell for mine," he said cheerfully. "You've got the drop on me and I've got to do what you say. I will pass my word, though I'd take it kindly if you'd send on what news you can.... Do you play piquet, Mr. Royal?"
Chapter XXII
Unless circumstances dictated haste Weir Menzies was never in a hurry. In essentials he was a business man. He was always ready to seize a fleeting opportunity but for choice he preferred method and exactitude rather than gambling on luck. There was nothing he could do at Shadwell for the time being that could not be done equally well by the men already on duty there.
The tactics of the moment were quite clear in his mind. Peggy Greye-Stratton, by herself, was of minor importance compared with the possibility of laying Gwennie Lyne and Ling by the heels. The direct route to that objective seemed to lay through her. Moreover though he would not admit it, even to himself he felt a certain personal animosity. Both Ling and the woman had contrived to humiliate him professionally. He wanted to locate them and then...
He was perched on a high stool before his tall desk in the chief inspector's room. The dossier of the case lay in front of him reports, statements, photographs, everything that had been gathered together by the elaborate machinery of the C. I. D. neatly typed and carefully indexed. Also he had his own Greek notes and several facts not yet incorporated in the dossier.
He rubbed his hand through his scanty hair and chewed at the end of a quill pen. For five minutes he allowed his thoughts uninterrupted flow and then there came to him Foyle, spruce and alert with twinkling blue eyes.
"Quite a dust up last night, I hear," he observed.
"Some," agreed Menzies. He got down off his stool, reached for a tobacco jar and filled his pipe. "I was coming in to see you, sir. I'd like to arrange to have fifty men on tap. It's likely I'll want 'em to-night."
Foyle polished his pince-nez. "As close up as that. I heard that you'd got an address. But fifty men! That means a raid. You'll have the newspaper men there."
The superintendent hated unnecessary limelight on the operations of the C. I. D. and he was not blind to the effects of human nature. Among fifty men, however carefully picked, there was sure to be some who had been carefully cultivated by journalists and he knew that a friendly hint would be passed on to Fleet Street before many hours were over.
"I only want them available," explained Menzies. "I don't know that I'll use 'em. We may be able to do things quietly, but if a house-to-house search is necessary and there should be any more gun-play'
"Right you are. I'll see they're at hand for a call. Now about things in general?"
"I was just thinking it out," said Menzies. "I can't just place things, though I've got more than enough to act on."
The other removed his glasses. "What you mean," he smiled, "is that you don't want to commit yourself to anything till you're sure."
"That's so," agreed Menzies. "You'll remember when we went over Linstone Terrace Gardens we couldn't find Greye-Stratton's pistol. I came across it this morning. In fact I have it here."
"Hallett?" ejaculated Foyle with a lift of his eyebrows.
"Hallett it is. I've just come from him. I did think he was safe last night. He was out of my sight for less than three minutes and I'm blest if he wasn't on the warpath on his own again or rather with the girl. She's got that young man absolutely dazzled. It seems that they met Ling after he dodged me. Now where she's concerned you couldn't make him talk, not if you used a a "- he wrestled for an illustration "a canopener. And he now knows a deuce of a lot, too. If I could draw it out of him I'd have the case pretty complete or I'm a fool. Look here." He ran through the papers on his desk and picked out two. "I picked these papers off him just now." He read:
"'Dear Stewart I was right pleased to get your letter and shall be glad when you come over again. Teddy is just fine and says he would like to see his dad again. It would be fine if only we could settle down and you didn't have to be sent on those long business journeys any more. As I wrote you last time, the show has gone bust and I am resting. So if you can spare a little money I would be glad of a little cheque, though I hate worrying you, specially when