‘I think that is my final question in the case,’ he said with a smile. ‘I am sorry to have bothered you, Mr Ellenbury. You never met Miss Annie Gibbins?’
‘Never,’ replied Ellenbury, with such emphasis that Jim knew he was speaking the truth. ‘I assure you I had no idea of her existence.’
From one lawyer to another was a natural step: more natural since Mr Stebbings’ office was in the vicinity, and this interview at least held one pleasant possibility—he might see Aileen.
She was a little staggered when he entered her room.
‘Mr Stebbings!—why on earth—?’ And then penitently: ‘I’m so sorry! I am not as inquisitive as I appear!’
Mr Stebbings, who was surprised at nothing, saw him at once and listened without comment to the detective’s business.
‘I never saw Mr Marling except once,’ he said. ‘He was a wild, rather erratic individual, and as far as I know, went to the Argentine and did not return.’
‘You’re sure that he went abroad?’ asked Jim.
Mr Stebbings, being a lawyer, was too cautious a man to be sure of anything. ‘He took his ticket and presumably sailed; his name was on the passenger list. Miss Alice Harlow caused inquiries to be made; I think she was most anxious that Marling’s association with Mr Harlow should be definitely broken. That, I am afraid, is all I can tell you.’
‘What kind of man was Marling? Yes, I know he was wild and a little erratic, but was he the type of man who could be dominated by Harlow?’
A very rare smile flitted across the massive face of the lawyer.
‘Is there anybody in the world who would not be dominated by Mr Harlow?’ he asked dryly. ‘I know very little of what is happening outside my own profession, but from such knowledge as I have acquired I understand that Mr Harlow is rather a tyrant. I use the word in its original and historic sense,’ he hastened to add.
Jim made a gentle effort to hear more about Mr Harlow and his earlier life. He was particularly interested in the will, a copy of which he had evidently seen at Somerset House, but here the lawyer was adamant. He hinted that, if the police procured an order from a judge in chambers, or if they went through some obscure process of law, he would have no alternative but to reveal all that he knew about his former client; otherwise—
Aileen was not in her room when he passed through, and he lingered awhile, hoping to see her, but apparently she was engaged (to her annoyance, it must be confessed) with the junior partner; he left Bloomsbury with a feeling that he had not extracted the completest satisfaction from his visits.
At the corner of Bedford Place a blue Rolls was drawn up by the sidewalk, and so deep was he in thought that lie would have passed, had not the man who was sitting at the wheel removed the long cigar from his white teeth and called him by name. Jim turned with a start. The last person he expected to meet at this hour of the morning in the prosaic environment of Theobald’s Road.
‘I thought it was you.’ Mr Harlow’s voice was cheerful, his manner a pattern of geniality. ‘This is a fortunate meeting.’
‘For which of us?’ smiled Jim, leaning his elbow on the window opening and looking into the face of the man.
‘For both, I hope. Come inside, and I’ll drive you anywhere you’re going. I have an invitation to offer and a suggestion to make.’
Jim opened the door and stepped in. Harlow was a skilful driver. He slipped in and out of the traffic into Bedford Square, and then: ‘Do you mind if I drive you to my house? Perhaps you can spare the time?’
Jim nodded, wondering what was the proposition. But throughout the drive Mr Harlow kept up a flow of unimportant small talk, and he said nothing important until he showed his visitor into the beautiful library. Mr Harlow threw his heavy coat and cap on to one of the red settees, twisted a chair round, so that it revolved like a teetotum, and set it down near his visitor.
‘Somebody followed you here,’ he said. ‘I saw him out of the tail of my eye. A Scotland Yard man! My dear man, you are very precious to the law.’ He chuckled at this. ‘But I bear you no malice that you do not trust me! My theory is that it is much better for a dozen innocent men to come under police surveillance than for a guilty man to escape detection. Only it is sometimes a little unnerving, the knowledge that I am being watched. I could stop it at once, of course. The Courier is in the market—I could buy a newspaper and make your lives very unpleasant indeed. I could raise a dozen men up in Parliament to ask what the devil you meant by it. In fact, my dear Carlton, there are so many ways of breaking you and your immediate superior that I cannot carry them in my head!’
And Jim had an uncomfortable feeling that this was no vain boast.
‘I really don’t mind,’ Harlow went on; ‘it annoys me a little, but amuses me more. I am almost above the law! How stupid that sounds!’ He slapped his knee and his rich laughter filled the room. ‘Of course I am; you know that! Unless I do something very stupid and so trivial that even the police can understand that I am breaking the law, you can never touch me!’
He waited for some comment here, but Jim was content to let his host do most of the talking. A footman came in at that moment pushing a basket trolley, and, to Jim’s surprise, it contained a silver tea-service, in addition to a bottle of whisky, siphon and glasses.
‘I never drink,’ explained Harlow. ‘When I say “never,” it would be better if I said “rarely.” Tea-drinking is a pernicious habit which I acquired in my early youth.’ He lifted the bottle. ‘For you—?’
‘Tea also,’ said Jim, and Mr Harlow inclined his head.
‘I thought that was possible,’ he said; and when the servant had gone he carried his tea back to the writing- table and sat down.
‘You’re a very clever young man,’ he said abruptly, and Jim showed his teeth in a sceptical smile. ‘I could almost wish you would admit your genius. I hate that form of modesty which is expressed in self-depreciation. You’re clever. I have watched your career and have interested myself in your beginning. If you were an ordinary police officer I should not bother with you; but you are something different.’
Again he paused, as though he expected a protest, but neither by word nor gesture did Jim Carlton approve or deny his right to this distinction.
‘As for me, I am a rich man,’ Harlow went on. ‘Yet I need the very help you can give to me. You are not well off, Mr Carlton? I believe you have an income of four hundred a year or thereabouts, apart from your salary, and that is very little for one who sooner or later must feel the need of a home of his own, a wife and a family—’
Again he paused suggestively, and this time Jim spoke.
‘What do you suggest to remedy this state of affairs? he asked.
Mr Harlow smiled.
‘You are being sarcastic. There is sarcasm in your voice! You feel that you are superior to the question of money. You can afford to laugh at it. But, my friend, money is a very serious thing. I offer you five thousand pounds a year.’
He rose to his feet the better to emphasize the offer, Jim thought.
‘And my duties?’ he said quietly.
Harlow shrugged his big shoulders; and put his hands deep into his trousers pockets.
‘To watch my interests.’ He almost snapped the words. ‘To employ that clever brain of yours in furthering my cause, in protecting me when I go—joking! I love a joke—a practical joke. To see the right man squirming makes me laugh. Five thousand a year, and all your expenses paid to the utmost limit. You like play-going? I’ll show you a play that will set you rolling with joy! What do you say?’
‘No,’ said Jim simply; ‘I’m not keen on jokes.’
‘You’re not?’ Harlow made a little grimace. ‘What a pity! There might be a million in it for you. I am not trying to induce you to do something against your principles, but it is a pity.’ It seemed to Jim’s sensitive ear that there was genuine regret in Harlow’s tone, but he went on quickly: ‘I appreciate your standpoint. You have no desire to enter my service. You are, let us say, antipathetic towards me?’
‘I prefer my own work,’ said Jim.
Harlow’s smile was broad and benevolent. ‘There remains only one suggestion: I want you to come to the dinner and reception I am giving to the Middle East delegates next Thursday. Regard that as an olive branch!’
Jim smiled. ‘I will gladly accept your invitation, Mr Harlow,’ he said and then, with scarcely a pause: ‘Where can I find Marling?’
The words were hardly out of his lips before he cursed himself for his folly. He had not the slightest intention
