CHAPTER XXIV

It was Monday morning. A church clock striking one reminded Gordon of this interesting fact. An hour had passed since Bobbie’s “good-night” had come to him through the closed door of his room.

“Good-night,” said Gordon.

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” snapped Bobbie.

He had been out all the evening interviewing Inspector Carslake, and the excursion had not been altogether profitable. Bobbie’s door closed. He heard the click of Diana’s lock being fastened. Dempsi passed, after rhapsodizing at the closed portals of Diana’s bower. From somewhere below came the snores of Julius Superbus.

Every exit from the house was closed, save one. The little casement in the big windows of The Study. Gordon had made a careful examination, for there was a possibility that Diana had taken the precaution of screwing it tight. But this she had neglected, satisfied probably with the presence in The Study of Mr. Superbus.

Twice Gordon had tiptoed to the door of his room and turned the handle. It was unlocked to-night. With Bobbie in the house Diana had relaxed her vigilance. Half-past-one chimed. Gordon got off the bed, put on his soiled collar and his coat and gathered up his shoes. He was penniless, but the servants at the hotel knew him, and he would be able to write a cheque on the hotel note-paper and get all the cash he wanted. And then he would return and deal with Mr. Dempsi. He had not yet decided as to the method of Dempsi’s death, but it would be painful. As for Heloise ... he hoped that she would be gone.

Extinguishing the light, he opened the door and listened. There was no sound, and, creeping down the stairs, he passed silently into The Study. Mr. Superbus was breathing regularly--the window rattled a little; the floor vibrated; but no other ill effects followed. As Gordon stood listening, the detective grunted and turned over on his side. The snores ceased--Julius was in a deeper sleep than ever. Now was his chance; yet he had not taken a step before he halted. A circle of light had appeared at the window. He waited, holding his breath. There was a rasping sound, and the casement opened. He saw the dark bulk of a figure wriggle through. A long pause, in which the newcomer was invisible, then the circle of light appeared again. This time on the safe.

A burglar! His first impulse was to leap at the man and grapple with him. His second was to approach with less commotion....

“Hands up, or I’ll fire!”

At the first sibilant of the words, the light went out, and then:

“Don’t shoot, guv’nor. It’s a cop!”

“Don’t shout, you fool!” hissed Gordon. “There’s a man sleeping in the room--where’s your gun?”

“Don’t carry a gun.”

“What are you doing here?”

The unknown burglar’s impatient click of lips was certainly called for.

“Don’t ask silly questions--I said it was a cop, didn’t I?”

Gordon groped for the flash-lamp and turned it full on the man’s face.

“I know you,” he said immediately.

The thin lips parted in a grin.

“You ’ave the advantage of me,” he said with mordant humour.

“You are the man who was cleaning the windows yesterday morning?”

The burglar nodded.

“Got me first time. Stark’s my name--I’m not giving any trouble, and if you tell the judge I had a gun you’re a liar.”

He raised his voice a little. Gordon glanced round fearfully, but the detective was snoring again.

“Ssh! Not so loud. Have you opened the safe?”

The idea came to him at that second: a brain flash of singular brilliance.

“I should have done if you’d been a minute later,” said Stark plaintively. “You’ve spoilt a good night’s work.”

Gordon nodded.

“Open it,” he said, and Stark could not believe his ears.

“What!”

“Open it. I’ll pay you well--and I’ll give you your liberty. You’ll only have to work on one lock--the combination is ‘Telma’--got that?”

“Do you mean it, guv’nor?” incredulity dominant.

“Yes, yes. I lost my key,” replied Gordon. “Now get to work--can you manage without the lights?”

The other grinned in the darkness.

“Sure. Only amatchoors want a lot of light. A flash is best--and brightest.”

He produced from under his coat a short jemmy and a longer and thinner instrument. He may have been, and was, a poor window-cleaner. As burglar he belonged to the aristocracy.

“Ever seen a safe opened before?” he asked over his shoulder.

Gordon shook his head.

“No--not this way,” he admitted.

“Takes years to learn and there’s not much money in it,” said Mr. Stark sadly. “Spoilt by foreigners this trade is, ruined by competition and outsiders, like everything else. Americans mostly. Why they don’t keep in their own country I don’t know. Very smart fellows--I’ll say that, though they’re taking the bread out of our mouths; but we’ve got as good men if they only had a bit of encouragement and capital behind ’em.”

The door swung out.

“There you are, sir!”

Gordon peered over the man’s shoulder.

“Open?” he asked, in a tone which combined surprise and annoyance. The man who sold him the safe was indeed a teller of untrue stories.

“Yes.”

“Show the light. Here it is. Moses! there’s not ten thousand there!”

He grasped what there was, and raised his head to listen--somebody was coming down the stairs.

“Now go quick--there’s somebody coming. Here, take this!”

He thrust a bill into the burglar’s hand. In a second Stark was through the window. Gordon was following, when a quivering voice from the sofa called:

“Who’s there----?”

Mr. Selsbury did not wait to explain. As the detective, with surprising courage, ran toward him, Gordon jumped from the window.

“Stop!”

It was another voice--Dempsi! Gordon dropped to the courtyard as the other fired.

“Bang--bang!”

Twice he shot, and there was a scream of pain. Diana heard it, and sprang from bed. Drawing her wrap about her as she ran, she flew down the stairs and into The Study. In the centre of the room stood Dempsi, and at his feet a figure--the wriggling figure of Julius Superbus.

“He has paid the price of duty,” said Dempsi.

And so it proved. Ten little toes had Mr. Superbus brought to 61 Cheynel Gardens. One would never go forth again attached to his patrician feet.