Ben Sees It Through Page 18

  He fished for the match, and discovered it. He struck it. The light flickered on Molly, and he stared at her.

  ‘Trouble’s good fer you, ain’t it?’ he said. ‘Yer’ve filled out in front, like!’

  Molly glanced down at her increased figure, and the matchlight played upon her smile.

  ‘That’s not me, Ben,’ she answered. ‘That’s your cap.’

  ‘Blimy, I’d fergot orl abart that!’ exclaimed Ben.

  ‘I haven’t, Ben,’ replied Molly, the smile now vanished. ‘I’ve found out what they’re after.’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘Yes, Ben. In the lining. A letter. I expect that man White put it there before he passed the cap on to you—’

  ‘Fer me ter pass on ter Lovelice!’ blinked Ben. ‘Well—of orl the sorce—’

  He felt Molly’s warm breath suddenly on his fingers. She had blown out the match.

  ‘Quick!’ she whispered, seizing his arm. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  27

  Blade Against Bullet

  The words were barely out of Molly’s mouth before there was a definite sound at the front-door. A second later the staircase was empty, and the two late occupants were in the darkness of the upper landing.

  The front-door opened. They heard it open, but they did not hear it close. Someone entered. They knew the hall towards the staircase, and they prepared for further flight. But all at once the steps ceased, and were followed by a low exclamation.

  Somebody else was entering.

  And now the front-door did close, and the first person turned swiftly. They heard the quick swing round, though they could see nothing.

  ‘Don’t move!’ said the second person. It was Don Pasquali’s voice. ‘I have a knife.’

  The first person answered, with admirable control:

  ‘You carry two, then?’

  The second person’s voice was Mr Lovelace’s.

  Don Pasquali smiled. The smile was in his words as he responded:

  ‘Life is risky business. And more big risk if you know too much!’

  ‘Obliged to you for the warning,’ retorted Mr Lovelace, dryly. ‘But how you expect to use your knife in the dark happens to be one of the things I don’t know! Any more than I know why you suggest using it.’

  ‘Shall we have some light, then?’

  ‘I’ll supply my light after you’ve supplied yours! What’s your game, eh?’

  ‘I ask, too, what is your game?’

  ‘As this happens to be my house, I think I’m entitled to the first questions,’ the old man rapped out. ‘Trespassing may be permitted in Spain, but it doesn’t happen to be permitted in England.’

  ‘And you?’ inquired Don Pasquali. His voice still smiled. ‘You always do what you are permitted?’

  ‘That’s my business!’

  ‘Also, mine.’

  ‘I see. Blackmail!’

  ‘Blackmail?’ Now Don Pasquali did more than smile. He laughed. ‘A good joke, that! Dios! You English can be funny.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so,’ observed Mr Lovelace. ‘You’ll probably need your own sense of humour pretty badly before long. You know, of course, that you are in the news?’

  ‘In the news?’ repeated the Spaniard. ‘What is that?’

  ‘You’re wanted. The police are after you. You know what the word “police” means, I take it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. But what do the police want me for?’

  ‘Gawd, ’e’s a cool ’un!’ whispered Ben, and felt a small hand over his mouth.

  ‘Have you ever heard of a man called Mr White?’ inquired the old man.

  ‘Ah! Mr White?’

  ‘Yes. Somebody killed him yesterday in Southampton.’

  ‘Poor man!’

  ‘In a taxi. With a knife. It must have been a very quick job, because the murderer doesn’t seem to have had time to pull the knife out again.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I’m telling you, Mr Spaniard. Now, it would be interesting if the knife you say you’re holding at this moment is a brother of the knife that was found sticking in Mr White’s chest, wouldn’t it? The police have got that knife, you know. They think it came from Spain.’

  ‘They think, also, that a sailor come from Spain,’ answered Don Pasquali, after a moment’s pause. ‘They think he bring the knife from there, perhaps.’

  ‘Oh, they’re after the sailor, as well,’ admitted Mr Lovelace. ‘I expect they’ll hang the pair of you. Unless—’

  There was a silence. The little hand again pressed over Ben’s mouth; but, this time, unnecessarily.

  ‘Unless?’ queried Don Pasquali.

  ‘Well,’ said Mr Lovelace, slowly, ‘if I were given complete particulars—and if events took a certain course—I might help to arrange things so that only the sailor swung.’

  ‘Oh, but you will have to do that, of course,’ said the Spaniard.

  ‘Have to?’

  ‘Or, perhaps, you swing, too?’

  ‘And what should I swing for?’ asked Mr Lovelace.

  His voice was still steady, but the listeners above noted a new tone in it.

  ‘A dead man in a clock?’ suggested Don Pasquali.

  Now there was a longer silence. Ben found that his companion had crept a little closer to him.

  ‘But why all this in the dark?’ came the Spaniard’s voice. ‘It is time now for the light, eh?’

  ‘I agree,’ said Mr Lovelace, shortly. ‘I’ll turn on the main switch.’

  They heard him move from the foot of the stairs and go to the back of the hall. They heard something click. Then they heard him return to his place by the stairs.

  ‘Now turn on the light,’ said the old man. ‘The switch is by the door, just where you’re standing.’

  They heard another click, but no illumination followed.

  ‘There is nothing!’ frowned the Spaniard.

  ‘Oh, yes, there is,’ answered the old man. ‘There is a revolver. Now we’re fifty-fifty. Or, shall we say, fifty-one—forty-nine?’ And, as the Spaniard gave an angry exclamation, he added, ‘I can just make you out against the glass of the door, Mr Spaniard, and I’ve got you nicely covered. I shall see you if you move—so perhaps you won’t move, eh? One to Great Britain.’

  ‘I, also, see you!’ exclaimed Don Pasquali.

  ‘Forgive me,’ retorted Mr Lovelace, ‘but I know my house too well to believe you. My head is below the casement window, and you can only guess where I am by my voice. Then I have six bullets, and you only have one knife. I think we’ll continue in the dark, as we are, for just a few moments more. Do you mind?’

  Don Pasquali did mind, but he was not going to spoil his chance by giving way to his anger. He had waited before, and he could wait again.

  ‘You are clever,’ he conceded. He had managed to force back his smile. ‘So I do not mind. To work with a fool—that is the pity. You know that, eh?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded the old man.

  ‘Your Mr White,’ answered the Spaniard. ‘He was a fool. Or he would be here now, not me.’

  ‘Yes, you’re going to tell me about Mr White,’ rapped out the old man. ‘You’re going to tell me all you know about him, and then I’ll judge whether he was a fool or not.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he was a fool,’ insisted Don Pasquali, softly. ‘The fool that expect too much.’

  ‘Well, well, go on!’ snapped Mr Lovelace, for Don Pasquali had paused.

  ‘I go on—yes, I go on,’ replied the Spaniard. ‘I tell you a story. You send Mr White to Spain, do you not?’

  ‘Maybe. And maybe not!’

  ‘We will say that you do. It will save time. We will say that you try for a long while to find out something about one certain person. I say his name, eh? It is Mr Joseph Medway. You will see it on the placards. Oh, a great man! He become more great—but only if all go smooth with him now, at this moment. And so if you find out the thing you have heard of Mr Medway, it will bring a big sum of money to you, bec
ause Mr Medway will not want you to tell to others what you find out. It will ruin him. Only—you must be sure. It is no good if you are not sure. So you send Mr White to Spain, to make sure.’

  ‘This is certainly an interesting story of yours, Mr Spaniard,’ commented the old man. ‘I must undoubtedly hear the end of it. If I like the end of it, maybe I’ll decide not to shoot you.’

  ‘Ah, you will not shoot me,’ answered Don Pasquali, confidently.

  ‘What makes you so certain of that?’

  ‘The end of the story. It has, you see, a surprise.’

  ‘And, maybe, I also have a surprise. Meanwhile, suppose we proceed? Mr White, apparently on my instructions—’

  ‘—goes to Puerbello, where you have found there is a lady. A lady who is quietly there, earning no money, but receiving it. Now, who is it send the money to her for so many years? A lawyer. Yes. A lawyer! A lawyer—so you find—of our big friend on the big poster—Mr Medway.’

  ‘And when Mr White reached Puerbello?’ inquired Mr Lovelace.

  ‘Oh, then it is very sad,’ sighed the Spaniard, mockingly. ‘For the lady is just dead. In a house that is mine from my father two years ago. The rent is not all paid. The poor lady, she owes me money. I am, you see, her—what is your word—landlord? And so, of course, as there is no one else to do it, I look through her things, and I find a letter.’

  ‘Ah!’ murmured Mr Lovelace.

  ‘It is a letter written many years ago. It is sign by our friend Mr Medway. She should have burn it, I think, but she keep it. Just one little letter, to hold to her heart, eh? And I find that letter, Mr Lovelace, and so I say it is my letter, and not for you or for your Mr White. Is that not so?’

  ‘Certainly,’ agreed the old man, ‘and I expect Mr White thought so, too, and offered to buy it from you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Twenty-five pesetas. Not enough! Fifty, then? No. A hundred? And always more eager. So I ask myself why—’

  ‘And he tells you why?’

  ‘Just a little,’ smiled Don Pasquali. ‘As you say, enough.’

  ‘You were right, Don Pasquali, to call him a fool,’ said Mr Lovelace.

  ‘Ah! You know my name?’

  ‘Mr White telephoned it to me a few minutes before you killed him.’

  ‘Then you know, also, the rest of my story, eh? You know that he attack me, when I want my share, and leave me for dead? And steal the letter—eh? Steal it—’

  ‘I have agreed he was a fool,’ interposed Mr Lovelace, testily.

  ‘More than a fool!’ flashed the Spaniard, holding out a scarred hand. ‘See, this is his work! Don Pasquali does not forget!’ He dropped his hand to his side, and shrugged his shoulders. ‘So! You know. I follow him. To England I follow him. Perhaps he find this out. Who shall not know—if you do not? Perhaps you find out by some—what is your word?—agent, and perhaps you send to Mr White a wireless on board his ship that I am here in Southampton first? And so Mr White he get what you call the wind up. And so he must think what to do. And so he knock off the cap of a fool of a sailor. And so he buy him a new one, hiding first the letter in the lining. And so I kill Mr White. But the sailor with the cap—he escape.’

  Above, the sailor was wondering how to escape. He turned his head to whisper to the girl at his side—and found there was no girl at his side …

  ‘Yes, the sailor escaped,’ Mr Lovelace, below, was saying. ‘Mr White, then, was not the only fool.’

  ‘The sailor escape from you, also,’ replied Don Pasquali. ‘Where is he? And where is the cap? As you say, Mr White was not the only fool!’

  ‘You think I have the cap?’ queried Mr Lovelace, suddenly.

  ‘I know you have not the cap,’ answered Don Pasquali. ‘I go outside to watch. I see you return. You do not see me, so you do not act! And so I know by your look, by your way, by your walk, that you have not the cap.’

  ‘Really?’ exclaimed Mr Lovelace. ‘After all, Don Pasquali, you seem to be quite clever!’

  ‘Not so bad,’ agreed Don Pasquali.

  ‘And where does your cleverness lead?’

  ‘To the surprise at the end of the story.’

  ‘The surprise being?’

  ‘Oh, no! We must arrange a price for it, Signor Lovelace. The price Mr White would not arrange.’

  ‘Well, let’s hear the price.’

  ‘We share. As you say just now, fifty-fifty. In Spain we hear the British are just. Is it so? Or is it not so?’

  While Mr Lovelace considered his reply, Ben felt a sudden touch at his shoulder. His companion had returned …

  ‘Very well, I agree,’ said Mr Lovelace. ‘Now, what is your surprise?’

  ‘It is in the clock,’ answered the Spaniard. ‘Someone is there who will tell us where the cap is.’

  Mr Lovelace snorted with annoyance.

  ‘Are you fooling?’ he exclaimed. ‘I left a dead man in the clock!’

  ‘And I leave a live one there,’ retorted the Spaniard, with triumph. ‘The sailor. Go and look!’

  ‘Bah! We’ll have some light on this!’ cried the old man, and suddenly darted towards the back of the house.

  The Spaniard waited by the front-door. Above, Ben whispered, ‘Ain’t we goin’ ter do nothink?’

  ‘In a second!’ came the reply, so faintly that Ben was not sure whether he had merely guessed it.

  ‘Switch on!’ called Mr Lovelace’s voice.

  Click! The hall was bathed in light. On the half-landing the door of the illuminated grandfather clock stood open, revealing its emptiness.

  ‘Dios!’ cried Don Pasquali.

  ‘Well, what did you expect?’ barked Mr Lovelace, as he returned to the hall. ‘When I came in, a second before you, a match was glowing on the stairs. Our sailor’s up on the next floor somewhere—and now, by God, we’re going to catch him!’

  28

  Cornered

  Molly could be quick, but either she had underestimated the speed of her enemies or the situation beat her. She had barely begun the whispered instructions for which Ben was tensely waiting before Mr Lovelace and Don Pasquali were on the staircase, and an instant later Molly herself was scampering up the next flight.

  Normally Ben would have scampered with her. He did not do so because of the beginning of the instruction he had received. ‘Stop—hide—and when I’ve drawn them off—’ Molly had whispered, and then the top of Mr Lovelace’s head had flashed into view, and she had gone. There had been no time to work out what the order meant, or whether one agreed with it.

  What the order meant, however, soon became clear. As Molly’s feet pattered, with significant noise, up the second flight of stairs the pursuers reached the top of the first flight, and they continued on their way upwards without pause. To his amazement Ben found the main staircase clear … And Molly had meant that he should use it, cross the hall, and make his escape!

  Escape? Lummy! Did she imagine that he could think of his own safety while she was being pursued by a couple of murderers? What had he done to deserve this low opinion? Almost indignantly Ben swung round towards the upper staircase and shouted:

  ‘Oi!’

  As he lurched towards the stairs, a figure turned and came flying down towards him. A hand—it was scarred, though he could not see it—seized his collar, and he felt himself being propelled back to a wall. Then Mr Lovelace’s voice called down the stairs, ‘Have you got him?’ and Ben’s captor responded with a triumphant, ‘Like a flea!’

  A few moments later, a light was switched on. It illuminated a queer scene. Molly was seated on the lower stair of the second staircase, with Mr Lovelace standing over her, while Ben himself was squatting in a corner squinting up at the Spaniard’s knife.

  ‘Good! A double capture,’ commented Mr Lovelace, sarcastically. ‘An unexpected pleasure!’

  ‘Do we want them both?’ grinned Don Pasquali, making a pass at Ben with his knife. ‘Or shall I get rid of this one?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ replied Mr Lovelace.
‘He can live a little longer. But watch out for tricks.’

  ‘That’s right,’ muttered Ben. ‘See I don’t shoot hup suddin like a Jack-in-the-box and ’it yer!’

  ‘He might even do that,’ said Mr Lovelace. ‘He did it to me not long ago at Waterloo. But I’m more interested at the moment in another of his tricks. Tell me, Ben, how do you manage to drink dope without being affected by it?’

  ‘Nah, then, not so much o’ the Ben!’

  ‘And not so much of your sauce, my man! Speak up! I asked you a question!’

  ‘Wot was it?’

  ‘Why didn’t my tea put you nicely to sleep?’

  ‘Pah! Does it matter?’ interposed Don Pasquali, impatiently.

  ‘If I think it matters, then you can be sure that it matters!’ retorted Mr Lovelace, tartly. ‘Kindly leave me to manage this in my own way. I believe in learning other people’s tricks, and I am still waiting to learn this one.’

  ‘Which ’un.’

  ‘If he refuses to answer, Don Pasquali, you can prick the top of his head—’

  ‘Beast!’ cried Molly. ‘If you touch him, I’ll—’

  ‘Yes? What?’ inquired Mr Lovelace, blandly. ‘Stay still, young lady, or it will be the worse for both of you. I’ll deal with you in a minute!’

  ‘That’s orl right—doncher worry, miss,’ said Ben. ‘E’s like that blinkin’ monkey they ’ad at the Zoo—yer mustn’t hirritate ’im or ’e spits. The reason ’is cup o’ tea didn’t send me ter sleep was ’cos I didn’t drink it. Now ’e knows. We ain’t orl mugs!’

  ‘Apparently not,’ nodded the old man. ‘And did you afterwards let your lady friend out of her room?’

  ‘’Ow could I?’ answered Ben. ‘Door was locked, weren’t it?’

  ‘I seem to remember a chimney?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he go up the chimney,’ interposed the Spaniard, ‘but he have to go out of the window, because—’ He grinned. ‘I block the chimney up.’

  ‘I see,’ murmured Mr Lovelace, contemplatively, and his eyes rested for a moment on Don Pasquali, and on his knife. ‘Up the chimney, and out of the window—and so to Waterloo! Eh?’

  ‘Wotcher arskin’ for? You know!’