us in?” he asked pleasantly, and Emanuel’s eyebrows rose.
“Locking you in, Johnny? Why, do you think I’m afraid of losing you, like you’re afraid of losing Marney?”
Johnny sipped the glass of water, his eyes fixed on the old man’s face. What was behind that buffet? That was the thought which puzzled him. It was a very ordinary piece of furniture, of heavy mahogany, a little shallow, but this was accounted for by the fact that the room was not large, and, in furnishing, the proprietors of the club had of necessity to economise space.
There were two cupboard doors beneath the ledge on which the side dishes should have been standing. Was it his imagination that he thought he saw one move the fraction of an inch?
“Ever been in ‘bird’ before, Johnny?”
It was Emanuel who did most of the talking.
“I know they gave you three years, but was that your first conviction?”
“That was my first conviction,” said Johnny.
The old man looked up at the ceiling, pulling at his chin.
“Ever been in Keytown?” he demanded. “No good asking you, Peter, I know. You’ve never been in Keytown or any bad boob, have you? Clever old Peter!”
“Let us talk about something else,” said Peter. “I don’t believe for one moment the story you told me about Lila having been married before. You’ve told me a fresh lie every time the matter has been discussed. I’m going to give you a show, Emanuel, for old times’ sake. You’ve been a swine, and you’ve been nearer to death than you know, for, if your plan had come off as you expected it would, I’d have killed you.”
Emanuel chuckled derisively.
“Old Peter’s going to be a gunman,” he said. “And after all the lectures you’ve given me! I’m surprised at you, Peter. Now I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” He rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands, his keen eyes, all the keener for the magnification of his spectacles, fixed hardly upon his sometime friend. “By my reckoning, you owe me forty thousand pounds, and I know I’m not going to get it without a struggle. Weigh in with that money, and I’ll make things easy for my son’s wife.” He emphasised the last word.
“You can cut that out!”
It was Jeffrey whose rough interruption checked his father’s words.
“There’s no money in the world that’s going to get Marney from me. Understand that.” He brought his hand down with a crash upon the table. “She belongs to me, and I want her, Peter. Do you get it? And what is more, I’m going to take her.”
Johnny edged a little farther from the table, and folding his arms across his chest, his lips parted in a smile. His right hand reached for the gun that he carried under his armpit: a little Browning, but a favourite one of Johnny’s in such crises as these. For the cupboard door had moved again, and the door of the room was locked: of that he was certain. All this talk of Marney was sheer blind to keep them occupied.
It had long passed the time when the plates should have been cleared and the second course make its appearance. But there was to be no second course, at that dinner. Emanuel was speaking chidingly, reproachfully.
“Jeffrey, my boy, you mustn’t spoil a good deal,” he said. “The truth is—”
And then all the lights of the room went out. Instantly Johnny was on his feet, his back to the wall, his gun fanning the dark.
“What’s the game?” asked Peter’s voice sharply. “There’ll be a real dead man here if you start fooling.”
“I don’t know,” said Emanuel, speaking from the place where he had been. “Ring the bell, Jeff. I expect the switch has gone.”
There was somebody else in the room: Johnny felt the presence instinctively – a stealthy somebody who was moving toward him. Holding out one hand, ready to pounce the moment it touched, he waited. A second passed – five seconds – ten seconds – and then the lights went on again.
Peter was also standing with his back to the wall, and in his hand a murderous looking Webley. Jeffrey and his father were side by side in the places they had been when the lights went out. There was no fifth man in the room.
“What’s the game?” asked Peter suspiciously.
“The game, my dear Peter? What a question to ask! You don’t make me responsible for the fuses, do you? I’m not an electrician. I’m a poor old crook who has done time that other people should have done – that’s all,” said Emanuel pleasantly. “And look at the hardware! Bad idea, carrying guns. Let an old crook give you a word of advice, Peter,” he bantered. “I’m not surprised at Johnny, because he might be anything. Sit down, you damned fools,” he said jocularly. “Let’s talk.”
“I’ll talk when you open that door,” said Johnny quietly. “And I’ll put away my gun on the same condition.”
In three strides, Emanuel was at the door. There was a jerk of his wrist, and it flew open.
“Have the door open if you’re frightened,” he said contemptuously. “I guess it’s being in boob that makes you scared of the dark. I got that way myself.”
As he had turned the handle, Johnny had heard a second click. He was confident that somebody stood outside the door, and that the words Legge had uttered were intended for the unknown sentry. What was the idea?
Peter Kane was sipping his champagne, with an eye on his host. Had he heard the noise, too? Johnny judged that he had. The extinguishing of the lights had not been an accident. Some secret signal had been given, and the lights cut off from the controlling switchboard. The doors of the buffet cupboard were still. Turning his head, Johnny saw that Jeffrey’s eyes were fixed on his with a hard concentration which was significant. What was he expecting?
The climax, whatever it might be, was at hand.
“It’s a wonder to me, Gray, that you’ve never gone in for slush.” Jeffrey was speaking slowly and deliberately. “It’s a good profession, and you can make money that you couldn’t dream of getting by faking racehorses.”
“Perhaps you will tell me how to start in that interesting profession,” said Johnny coolly.
“I’ll put it on paper for you, if you like. It’ll be easier to make a squeak about. Or, better still, I’ll show you how it’s done. You’d like that?”
“I don’t know that I’m particularly interested, but I’m sure my friend Mr. Reeder—”
“Your friend Mr. Reeder!” sneered the other. “He’s a pal of yours too, is he?”
“All law-abiding citizens are pals of mine,” said Johnny gravely.
He had put his pistol back in his jacket pocket, and his hand was on it.
“Well, how’s this for a start?”
Jeffrey rose from the table and went
