of Scotland Yard!” The servant repassed their door on her way to the drawing-room. “It is no good disguising the fact from you, Mr Straithwaite, that you may no longer be at liberty. But I am. Is there anything you wish done?”
There was no time for deliberation. Straithwaite was indeed between the unenviable alternatives of the familiar proverb, but, to do him justice, his voice had lost scarcely a ripple of its usual sang-froid.
“Thanks,” he replied, taking a small stamped and addressed parcel from his pocket, “you might drop this into some obscure pillar-box, if you will.”
“The Markham necklace?”
“Exactly. I was going out to post it when you came.”
“I am sure you were.”
“And if you could spare five minutes later—if I am here——”
Carrados slid his cigarette-case under some papers on the desk.
“I will call for that,” he assented. “Let us say about half-past eight.”
* * *
“I am still at large, you see, Mr Carrados; though after reflecting on the studied formality of the inspector’s business here, I imagine that you will scarcely be surprised.”
“I have made it a habit,” admitted Carrados, “never to be surprised.”
“However, I still want to cut a rather different figure in your eyes. You regard me, Mr Carrados, either as a detected rogue or a repentant ass?”
“Another excellent rule is never to form deductions from uncertainties.”
Straithwaite made a gesture of mild impatience.
“You only give me ten minutes. If I am to put my case before you, Mr Carrados, we cannot fence with phrases…. To-day you have had an exceptional opportunity of penetrating into our mode of life. You will, I do not doubt, have summed up our perpetual indebtedness and the easy credit that our connexion procures; Stephanie’s social ambitions and expensive popularity; her utterly extravagant incapacity to see any other possible existence; and my tacit acquiescence. You will, I know, have correctly gauged her irresponsible, neurotic temperament, and judged the result of it in conflict with my own. What possibly has escaped you, for in society one has to disguise these things, is that I still love my wife.
“When you dare not trust the soundness of your reins you do not try to pull up a bolting horse. For three years I have endeavoured to guide Stephanie round awkward comers with as little visible restraint as possible. When we differ over any project upon which she has set her heart Stephanie has one strong argument.”
“That you no longer love her?”
“Well, perhaps; but more forcibly expressed. She rushes to the top of the building—there are six floors, Mr Carrados, and we are on the second—and climbing on to the banister she announces her intention of throwing herself down into the basement. In the meanwhile I have followed her and drag her back again. One day I shall stay where I am and let her do as she intends.”
“I hope not,” said Carrados gravely.
“Oh, don’t be concerned. She will then climb back herself. But it will mark an epoch. It was by that threat that she obtained my acquiescence to this scheme—that and the certainty that she would otherwise go on without me. But I had no intention of allowing her to land herself—to say nothing of us both—behind the bars of a prison if I could help it. And, above all, I wished to cure her of her fatuous delusion that she is clever, in the hope that she may then give up being foolish.
“To fail her on the occasion was merely to postpone the attempt. I conceived the idea of seeming to cooperate and at the same time involving us in what appeared to be a clever counter-fraud. The thought of the real loss will perhaps have a good effect; the publicity will certainly prevent her from daring a second ‘theft.’ A sordid story, Mr Carrados,” he concluded. “Do not forget your cigarette-case in reality.”
The paternal shake of Carrados’s head over the recital was neutralized by his benevolent smile.
“Yes, yes,” he said. “I think we can classify you, Mr Straithwaite. One point—the glove?”
“That was an afterthought. I had arranged the whole story and the first note was to be brought to me by an attendant. Then, on my way, in my overcoat pocket I discovered a pair of Stephanie’s gloves which she had asked me to carry the day before. The suggestion flashed—how much more convincing if I could arrange for her to seem to drop the writing in that way. As she said, the next box was empty; I merely took possession of it for a few minutes and quietly drew across one of her gloves. And that reminds me—of course there was nothing in it, but your interest in them made me rather nervous.”
Carrados laughed outright. Then he stood up and held out his hand.
“Good-night, Mr Straithwaite,” he said, with real friendliness. “Let me give you the quaker’s advice: Don’t attempt another conspiracy—but if you do, don’t produce a ‘pair’ of gloves of which one is still suggestive of scent, and the other identifiable with eucalyptus!”
“Oh——!” said Straithwaite.
“Quite so. But at all hazard suppress a second pair that has the same peculiarity. Think over what it must mean. Good-bye.”
Twelve minutes later Mr Carlyle was called to the telephone.
“It is eight-fifty-five and I am at Charing Cross,” said a voice he knew. “If you want local colour contrive an excuse to be with Markham when the first post arrives to-morrow.” A few more words followed, and an affectionate valediction.
“One moment, my dear Max, one moment. Do I understand you to say that you will post me on the report of the case from Dover?”
“No, Louis,” replied Carrados, with cryptic discrimination. “I only said that I will post you on a report of the case from Dover.”
The Last Exploit of Harry the Actor
The one insignificant fact upon which turned the following incident in the joint experiences of Mr Carlyle and Max Carrados was merely this: that having called upon his friend just at the moment when the private detective was on the point of leaving his office to go to the safe deposit in Lucas Street, Piccadilly, the blind amateur accompanied him, and for ten minutes amused himself by sitting quite quietly among the palms in the centre of the circular hall while Mr Carlyle was occupied with his deed-box in one of the little compartments provided for the purpose.
The Lucas Street depository was then (it has since been converted into a picture palace) generally accepted as being one of the strongest places in London. The front of the building was constructed to represent a gigantic safe door, and under the colloquial designation of “The Safe” the place had passed into a synonym for all that was secure and impregnable. Half of the marketable securities in the west of London were popularly reported to have seen the inside of its coffers at one time or another, together with the same generous proportion
