a house in Berkeley Square,” said Emanuel quickly, and gave the number.
It was providential that he had remembered that white elephant of his. And he knew, too, that at that moment the house was empty but for a caretaker.
“Just wait here,” he said, and went back into the club and to his little office on the third floor.
Opening a drawer of his desk, he took out a small bunch of keys, the duplicates that had been made during the brief period that the original keys had been in his possession. He found Fenner waiting where he had left him.
“Here are the keys. The house is empty. One of our people borrowed the keys and got cold feet at the last minute. There’s about eight thousand pounds’ worth of jewellery in a safe – you can’t miss it. It is in the principal drawingroom – in show cases – go and take a look at it. And there’s plate worth a fortune.”
The man jingled the keys in his hand.
“Why haven’t you gone after it, Emanuel?”
“Because it’s not my graft,” said Emanuel. “I’m running straight now. But I want my cut, Fenner. Don’t run away with any idea that you’re getting this for nothing. You’ve got a couple of nights to do the job; after that, you haven’t the ghost of a chance, because the family will be coming back.”
“But why do you give it to me?” asked Fenner, still suspicious.
“Because there’s nobody else,” was the almost convincing reply. “It may be that the jewellery is not there at all,” went on Emanuel frankly. “It may have been taken away. But there is plenty of plate. I wouldn’t have given it to you if I’d got the right man – I doubt whether I’m going to get my cut from you.”
“You’ll get your cut,” said the other roughly. “I’m a fool to go after this, knowing what a squeaker you are, but I’ll take the risk. If you put a point on me over this, Emanuel, I’ll kill you. And I mean it.”
“I’m sick of getting news about my murder,” said Emanuel calmly. “If you don’t want to do it, leave it. I’ll send you up a couple of hundred in the morning, and that’s all I’ll do for you. Give me back those keys.”
“I’ll think about it,” said the man, and tumed away without another word.
It was one o’clock, and Emanuel went back to the club, working the automatic lift himself to the second floor.
“Everybody gone, Stevens?” he asked.
The porter stifled a yawn and shook his head.
“There’s a lady and a gentleman” – he emphasised the word – “in No. 8. They’ve been quarrelling since nine o’clock. They ought to be finished by now.”
“Put my office through to the exchange,” said Emanuel. Behind the porter’s desk was a small switchboard, and he thrust in the two plugs. Presently the disc showed him that Emanuel was through.
Mr. Legge had many friends amongst the minor members of the Criminal Investigation Department. They were not inexpensive acquaintances, but they could on occasion be extremely useful. That night, in some respects, Emanuel’s luck was in, when he found Sergeant Shilto in his office. There had been a jewel theft at one of the theatres, which had kept the sergeant busy.
“Is that you, Shilto?” asked Legge in a low voice. “It’s Manileg.” He gave his telegraphic address, which also served as a nom de plume when such delicate negotiations as these were going through.
“Yes, Mr. Manileg?” said the officer, alert, for Emanuel did not call up police headquarters unless there was something unusual afoot.
“Do you want a cop – a real one?” asked Legge in a voice little above a whisper. “There’s a man named Fenner—”
“The old lag?” asked Shilto. “Yes, I saw him to-day. What’s he doing?”
“He’s knocking off a little silver, from 973, Berkeley Square. Be at the front door: you’ll probably see him go in. You want to be careful, because he’s got a gun. If you hurry, you’ll get there in front of him. Goodnight.”
He hung up the receiver and smiled. The simplicity of the average criminal always amused Emanuel Legge.
Chapter XXIV
Peter wrote to tell of the invitation which Legge had extended to him. Johnny Gray had the letter by the first post. He sat in his big armchair, his silk dressing-gown wrapped around him, his chin on his fists; and seeing him thus, the discreet Parker did not intrude upon his thoughts until Johnny, reading the letter again, tore it in pieces and threw it into the wastepaper-basket.
He had a whimsical practice of submitting most of his problems, either in parable form or more directly, to his imperturbable manservant.
“Parker, if you were asked to take dinner in a lion’s den, what dress would you wear?”
Parker looked down at him thoughtfully, biting his lip.
“It would largely depend, sir, on whether there were ladies to be present,” he said. “Under those extraordinary circumstances, one should wear full dress and a white tie.”
Johnny groaned.
“There have been such dinners, sir,” Parker hastened to assure him in all seriousness. “I recall that, when I was a boy, a visiting menagerie came to our town, and one of the novelties was a dinner which was served in a den of ferocious lions; and I distinctly remember that the lion-tamer wore a white dress bow and a long tail coat. He also wore top boots,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “which, of course, no gentleman could possibly wear in evening dress. But then, he was an actor.”
“But supposing the lion-tamer had a working arrangement with the lions? Wouldn’t you suggest a suit of armour?” asked Johnny without smiling, and Parker considered the problem for a moment.
“That would rather turn it into a fancy-dress affair, sir,” he said, “where, of course, any costume is permissible. Personally,” he added, “I should never dream of dining in a den of lions under any circumstances.”
“That’s the answer I’ve been waiting for; it is the most intelligent thing you’ve said this morning,” said Johnny. “Nevertheless, I shall not follow your excellent advice. I will be dining at the Highlow Club on Thursday. Get me the morning newspaper: I haven’t seen it.”
He turned the pages apathetically, for the events which were at the moment agitating political London meant nothing in his life. On an inner page he found a brief paragraph which, however, did interest him. It was in the latest news column, and related to the arrest of a burglar, who had been caught red handed breaking into a house in Berkeley Square. The man had given his name as Fenner. Johnny shook his head sadly. He had no doubt as to the identity of the thief, for burglary was Fenner’s graft. Since the news had come in the early hours of the morning, there were no details, and he put the paper aside and fell into a train of thought.
Poor
