‘important.’”
Andrew tore open the envelope. Félice read it over his shoulder:
The Chief Commissioner of Police begs to inform Lord Glenlitten that his necklace has been returned, and the reward of ten thousand pounds is claimed. The Chief Commissioner will be glad if Lord Glenlitten will arrange to identify the necklace some time to-morrow. The person claiming the reward is a private detective—Mr. Felix Main.
“Well, I’m damned!” was Andrew’s only comment.
CHAPTER XXX
Sir Richard Cotton and Haslam had met by accident, walking down Pall Mall early that evening. They were standing upon the pavement engaged in a somewhat disjointed conversation, when they became aware of a taxicab stopping with dangerous suddenness against the kerbstone by their side. A tall young man alighted and advanced eagerly towards them.
“Our Russian acquaintance!” Sir Richard remarked drily. “He appears to have something to say to us.”
Haslam studied the newcomer through his deepset eyes without change of countenace.
“In the interests of your client, Max Drayton, I should listen to whatever the young man chooses to tell you,” he advised.
Charles approached, a little breathless, otherwise apparently normal, except that his collar was somewhat crushed and one of his sleeve links seemed to be missing.
“Sir Richard,” he confided, “I have something important to say to you. Is there anywhere we can be alone for a moment? Believe me, you will not regret it.”
The lawyer hesitated. Haslam whispered in his ear.
“Never mind whether it’s professional or not, do as he asks, if you wish to save Max Drayton from the scaffold,” he insisted.
“We will step into the waiting room of my club,” Sir Richard suggested. “It is next door here. I will certainly hear what you have to say.”
“There is great need for haste,” Charles continued feverishly.
“Do you mind Mr. Haslam coming along?” Sir Richard asked. “If what you have to say has anything to do with a certain night, his presence might be an advantage.”
The young man signified assent with a hasty gesture.
“You must give me a drink,” he begged, as soon as they had reached the waiting room. “It will be worth your while.”
Sir Richard ordered a brandy and soda, half of which the recipient drank before he began his statement.
“On the night you speak of, at Glenlitten Hall, that little fool of a woman, who had been gulled into believing that I, the son of her father’s old servant, was her brother, gave me a few minutes’ interview in her sitting room. We were interrupted by footsteps outside—yours, I believe, Mr. Haslam. She waved me away, imagining I would leave by the bathroom and through her bedroom. I did nothing of the sort. I concealed myself in a portion of her wardrobe. I had come to Glenlitten to steal the jewels and I meant to have them.”
He paused for another drink and went on, the choked words stumbling hurriedly from his lips.
“What happened was ridiculous, as real fact, although one might swallow it in a film picture. I—the devil’s own luck—passed through the bedroom too quickly to notice the jewels lying upon the dressing table, and it was not until after I was hidden in the wardrobe that I realised, peering through a crack above the hinges, that I might have walked straight away with the necklace. My supposed sister was in bed then, so I had to wait until she was asleep. When at last I thought the moment had come, I stole out, just as Drayton was peering in through the window. Whilst I was wondering what to do, De Besset burst into the room. I had gone too far for retreat, and the necklace was within a few inches of me. I shot De Besset with a revolver which will be found on or near me very shortly, and I should have shot the burglar too, if he hadn’t scrambled down his ladder, half dead with fright. I escaped downstairs, owing to the burglar’s scheme of darkness, with the necklace in my trousers pocket, and was dancing before any alarm was given. This is to say, in brief, that it was I who shot De Besset, and, so far as I know, the burglar was not in possession of any weapon at all.”
“The revolver belonging to his brother-in-law that was found—” Sir Richard began.
The young Russian held out his hand.
“The second part of my story explains that,” he announced. “How to dispose of the necklace—it bothered me! I came up against a man who called himself a private detective—Felix Main. He agreed to help me dispose of the jewels and divide the spoils. He also undertook to arrange things so that I should never be suspected of the murder, and it was he who procured, through a man whom he had once helped, the revolver belonging to Drayton’s brother-in-law. We threw it into the wood near the spot where Drayton had left his car, knowing that some day or other it would be found.”
“Stop a moment!” Sir Richard interrupted, taking some paper from a rack. “Hadn’t I better take this down?”
“Wait till I have finished,” Charles insisted. “You shall take it down presently. I was going to write it myself at a café. It is better for you to do it. I went to Felix Main to-day for money. I found he had double-crossed me. He had decided the game was too dangerous. He had taken the necklace to Scotland Yard and claimed the reward. He mocked at me when I demanded my share. He intended to have the whole. He reminded me that a word from him, and I should be charged with the murder. It was blackmail—flagrant and brutal. I took him up in my arms—I am strong sometimes; he had a gun but he was too frightened to use it properly. I shook the life out of him, and there he lies in his office.”
“My God!” Sir Richard cried. “Do you mean that you killed him?”
“Twenty minutes ago,” the young man assented, with a strange flash in his eyes, “and if ever a living being deserved it, he did. Now then, on to paper with it, Sir Richard. I am trusting you, mind, because there is no chance of my escape, with these two things up against me, but when I’ve signed, I walk out of this room. I will not have a policeman’s hand upon my shoulder. I choose my own punishment.”
The lawyer sat down at the table and began to write. Charles rang the bell and coolly ordered another brandy and soda, which he consumed in hasty gulps. Presently Sir Richard, his task completed, leaned back in his chair, and in his dull, legal voice read what he had written. The young man nodded assent, snatched up a pen and signed his name. Sir Richard and Haslam signed as witnesses, and the former placed the paper in his pocket.
“Now what are you going to do?” he asked Charles.
The latter stood up and looked out into the street. “If I can get so far,” he confided, “I am going to a little café near here where I shall drink. When the time comes, I shall know what to do. You need not interfere,” he warned them. “No one else shall suffer, only I am going my own way.”
The two men exchanged glances.
“In the light of what you have confessed, Charles Protinoff—” the lawyer began.
“Don’t
