Floyd, sir.”
“Who?” asked Craig sharply. “Impossible! Major Floyd is—” It was Floyd! He remembered now. Floyd, with whom he had sat that day – that happily-married man!
“What was he doing here?” he asked. “Now, spill it, Stevens, unless you want to get yourself into pretty bad trouble.”
“I’ve spilled all I know, sir,” said Stevens doggedly. “It was Major Floyd.”
And then an inspiration came to him.
“If you want to know who it was, it was Jeff Legge. Floyd’s his fancy name.”
“Who?”
Craig had had many shocks in his life, but, this was the greatest he had had for years.
“Jeff Legge? Old Legge’s son?”
Stevens nodded.
“Nobody knows that but a couple of us,” he said. “Jeff doesn’t work in the light.”
The officer nodded slowly.
“I’ve never seen him,” he admitted. “I knew Legge had a son, but I didn’t know he was running crook. I thought he was a bit of a boy.”
“He’s some boy, let me tell you!” said Stevens.
Craig sat down, his chin in his hands.
“Mrs. Floyd will have to be told. Good God! Peter Kane’s daughter! Peter didn’t know that he’d married her to Legge’s son?”
“I don’t know whether he knew or not,” said Stevens, “but if I know old Peter, he’d as soon know that she’d gone to the devil as marry her to a son of Emanuel Legge’s. I’m squeaking in a way,” he said apologetically, “but you’ve got to know – Emanuel will tell you as soon as he gets the news.”
“Come here,” said Craig. He took the man’s arm and led him to the passage where the detectives were listening, opened the door of a private room, the table giving evidence of the hasty flight of the diners. “Now,” he said, closing the door, “what’s the strength of this story?”
“I don’t know it all, Mr. Craig, but I know they were putting a point on Peter Kane a long time ago. Then one night they brought Peter along and kidded him into thinking that Jeff was a sucker in the hands of the boys. Peter had never seen Jeff before – as a matter of fact, I didn’t know he was Jeff at the time; I’d heard a lot about him, but, like a lot of other people, I hadn’t seen him. Well, they fooled Peter all right. He took the lad away with him. Jeff was wearing a Canadian officer’s uniform, and, of course, Jeff told the tale. He wouldn’t be the son of his father if he didn’t. That’s how he got to know the Kanes, and was taken to their home. When I heard about the marriage, I thought Peter must have known. I never dreamt they were playing a trick on him.”
“Peter didn’t know,” said Craig slowly. “Where’s the girl?”
“I can’t tell you. She’s in London somewhere.”
“At the Charlton,” nodded the other. “Now, you’ve got to tell me, Stevens, who is Mr. Brown of Toronto? It’s written differently from your usual hand – written by a man who has had a bad scare. In other words, it was written after you’d found the body.”
Stevens said nothing.
“You saw him come out; who was he?”
“If I die this minute—” began Stevens.
“You might in a few months, as ‘accessory after,’” said the other ominously; “and that’s what you’ll do if you conceal a murderer. Who is Mr. Brown?”
Stevens was struggling with himself, and after a while it came out.
“Johnny was here tonight,” he said huskily. “Johnny Gray.”
Craig whistled.
There was a knock at the door. A police officer, wanting instructions.
“There’s a woman down below, pretty nigh mad. I think you know her, sir.”
“Not Lila?” blurted Stevens.
“That’s the girl. Shall I let her come up?”
“Yes,” said Craig. “Bring her in here.”
She came in a minute, distracted, incoherent, her hair dishevelled, her hands trembling.
“Is he dead?” she gasped. “For God’s sake tell me. I see it in your face – he’s dead. Oh, Jeff, Jeff!”
“Now you sit down,” said the kindly Craig. “He’s no more dead than you or I are. Ask Stevens. Jeff’s doing very well indeed. Just a slight wound, my dear – nothing to worry about. What was the trouble? Do you know anything about it?”
She could not answer him.
“He’s dead,” she moaned. “My God, I killed him! I saw him and followed him here!”
“Give her a glass of wine, Stevens.”
The porter poured out a glass of white wine from one of the many deserted bottles on the table, and put it to her chattering teeth.
“Now, Lila, let’s get some sense out of you. I tell you, Jeff’s not dead. What is he to you, anyway?”
“Everything,” she muttered. She was shivering from head to foot. “I married him three years ago. No, I didn’t,” she said in a sudden frenzy.
“Go on; tell us the truth,” said Craig. “We’re not going to pull him for bigamy, anyway.”
“I married him three years ago,” she said. “He wasn’t a bad fellow to me. It was the old man’s idea, his marrying this girl, and there was a thousand for me in it. He put me down in Horsham to look after her, and see that there were no letters going to Johnny. There wasn’t any need of that, because she never wrote. I didn’t like the marriage idea, but he swore to me that it was only to get Peter’s money, and I believed him. Then tonight he told me the truth, knowing I wouldn’t squeak. I wish to God I had now, I wish I had! He is dead, isn’t he? I know he’s dead!”
“He’s not dead, you poor fish,” said Craig impatiently. “I might be congratulating you if he was. No, he’s got a bit of a wound.”
“Who shot him?”
“That’s just what I want to know,” said Craig. “Was it you?”
“Me!” Her look of horror supplied a satisfactory answer to his question. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know he was here, or coming here. I thought he was at the hotel, till I saw him. Yet I had a feeling that he was coming here tonight, and I’ve been waiting about all evening. I saw Peter and dodged him.”
“Peter? Has he been near the club?”
She
