brightening.
“There is at least five years’ penal servitude,” said Maurice brutally, “and I tell you frankly, Johnny, I’m rather scared.”
“Of what?” sneered the other. “Nobody is going to imagine that Mr. Meister, the eminent lawyer, is ‘fencing’ Lady Darnleigh’s pearls.” Johnny chuckled as the thought occurred to him. “By gad! You’d cut a queer figure in the dock at the Old Bailey, Maurice, Can’t you imagine the evening newspapers running riot over the sensational arrest and conviction of Mr. Maurice Meister, late of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and now of Flanders Lane, Deptford.”
Not a muscle of Maurice’s face moved, only the dark eyes glowed with a sudden baleful power.
“Very amusing,” he said evenly. “I never credited you before with an imagination.” He carried the pearls to the light and examined them, before he replaced the cardboard lid.
“You have seen Mary?” he asked in a conversational tone.
Johnny nodded.
“It is beastly to see her working, but I suppose it is all right. Maurice—”
The lawyer turned his head.
“Well?”
“I’ve been thinking things over. You had a girl in your service named Gwenda Milton?”
“Well?” said Maurice again.
“She drowned herself, didn’t she? Have you any idea why?”
Maurice Meister was facing him squarely now. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid betrayed the rising fury within him.
“The jury said—” he began.
“I know what the jury said,” interrupted Johnny roughly, “but I have my own theory.”
He walked slowly to the lawyer and touched him lightly on the shoulder as he emphasised every word.
“Mary Lenley is not Gwenda Milton,” he said. “She is not the sister of a fugitive murderer, and I am expecting a little better treatment for her than Gwenda Milton received at your hands.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Meister. His voice was very low and distinct.
“I think you do.” Johnny nodded slowly. “I want you to understand that there will be very serious trouble if Mary is hurt! They say that you live in everlasting fear of The Ringer — you would have greater cause to fear me if any harm came to Mary!”
Only for a second did Maurice drop his eyes.
“You’re a little hysterical, Johnny,” he said, “and you’re certainly not in your politest mood this morning. I think I called you crude a week ago, and I have no reason to revise that description. Who is going to harm Mary? As for The Ringer and his sister, they are dead!”
He picked up the pearls from the table, again removed the lid and apparently his eyes were absorbed in the contemplation of the pearls again.
“As a jewel thief—”
He got so far when there came a gentle tap at the door.
“Who’s there?” he asked quickly.
“Divisional Inspector Wembury!”
Chapter 10
Maurice Meister had time hastily to cover the pearls, toss them back into the safe and lock it before he opened the door. In spite of his iron nerve, the sallow face of the lawyer was drawn and white, and even his companion showed signs of mental strain as Alan appeared. It was Johnny who made the quicker recovery.
“Hallo, Wembury!” he said with a forced laugh. “I don’t seem to be able to get away from you!”
There was evidence of panic, of deadly fear, something of breathless terror in the attitude of these men. What secret did they hold in common? Alan was staggered by an attitude which shouted “guilt” with a tongue of brass.
“I heard Lenley was here,” he said, “and as I wanted to see him—”
“You wanted to see me?” said Johnny, his face twitching. “Why on earth should you want to see me?”
Wembury was well aware that Meister was watching him intently. No movement, no gesture, no expression was lost on the shrewd lawyer. What were they afraid of? Alan wondered, and his heart sank when, looking past them, he saw Mary at her typewriter, all unconscious of evil. “You know Lady Darnleigh, don’t you?” he asked.
John Lenley nodded dumbly.
“A few weeks ago she lost a valuable string of pearls,” Alan went on, “and I was put in charge of the case.”
“You?” Maurice Meister’s exclamation was involuntary.
Alan nodded. “I thought you knew that. My name appeared in the newspapers in connection with the investigations. I have handed the case over to Inspector Burton, and he wrote me this morning asking me if I would clear up one little matter that puzzled him.”
Mary had left her typewriter and had joined the little group. “One little matter that was puzzling him?” repeated John Lenley mechanically. “And what was that?”
Wembury hesitated to put the question in the presence of the girl. “He wanted to know what induced you to go up to Lady Darnleigh’s room.”
“And I have already given what I think is the natural explanation,” snapped Johnny.
“That you were under the impression you had left your hat and coat on the first floor? His information is that one of the footmen told you, as you were going upstairs, that the coats and hats were on the ground floor.”
John Lenley avoided his eyes. “I don’t remember,” he said. “I was rather rattled that night. I came downstairs immediately I recognised my mistake. Is it suggested that I know anything about the robbery?” His voice shook a little.
“Of course no such suggestion is put forward,” said Wembury with a smile, “but we have to get information wherever we can.”
“I knew nothing of the robbery until I read about it in the newspapers and—”
“Oh, Johnny,” Mary gasped the words, “you told me when you came home there had been a—”
Her brother stared her into silence. “It was two days after, you remember, my dear,” he said slowly and deliberately. “I brought the newspaper in to you and told you there had been a robbery. I could not have spoken to you that night because I did not see you.”
For a moment Alan wondered what the girl was going to say, but with a tremendous effort of will she controlled herself. Her face was colourless, and there was such pain in her eyes that
