“If he knows,” said Johnny quietly. “But if he knows, Reeder knows too. Do you get that?”
“What are you going to do?” she asked after a silence.
“I’m having one of my little jokes,” said Johnny between his teeth. “A real good joke! It is starting now. I can’t tell Peter, because he’d kill your young man, and I have a particular objection to Peter going to the drop. And you can’t tell Jeff, because there’d be a case for a jury, and when Jeff came out you’d be an old woman. That’s not a good prospect, eh? Now tell me all you’ve got to tell, and speak slowly, because I don’t write shorthand.”
He whipped a small notebook from his pocket, and as she spoke, reluctantly, sulkily, yet fearfully, he wrote rapidly. When he had finished: “You can go now, my gentle child,” he said, and she stood up, her eyes blazing with rage.
“If you squeak, Johnny Gray, I’ll kill you. I never was keen on this marriage business—naturally. I knew old Legge wanted him to marry Peter’s daughter, because Legge wanted to get one back on him. But Jeff’s been good to me; and the day the busies come for Legge I’ll come for you, and I’ll shoot you stone dead, Johnny, as God’s my judge!”
“Beat it!” said Johnny tersely.
He waited till she was gone through one of the openings in the box hedge, then passed along to the other and stopped. Peter Kane was standing in the open, shielded from view by the thin box bush, and Peter’s face was inscrutable.
VI
“Hallo, Johnny! Running for the compensation stakes?”
Johnny laughed.
“You mean the maid? She is rather pretty, isn’t she?”
“Very,” said the other.
Had he heard? That was a question and a fear in Johnny’s mind. The marble bench was less than six feet from the bush where Peter Kane stood. If he had been there any time—
“Been waiting long for me, Peter?” he asked.
“No! I just saw you take a farewell of Lila—very nice girl, that, Johnny—an extraordinarily nice girl. I don’t know when I’ve seen a nicer. What did you find to talk about?”
“The weather, dickybirds and the course of true love,” said Johnny, as Kane took his arm and led him across the lawn.
“Everything variable and flighty, eh?” said Peter with a little smile. “Come and eat, Johnny. These people are going away soon. Marney is changing now. What do you think of my new son-in-law, eh?”
His old jovial manner held. When they came into the big reception-room, and Peter Kane’s arm went round his son-in-law’s shoulder, Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God he did not know! He had sweated in his fear of what might follow a discovery.
Thirty-six people sat down in the dining-room, and, contrary to convention, Marney, who sat at the head of the table, was wearing her going-away dress. John shot a quick glance at her as he came in, but she averted her eyes. Her father sat on her left; next to him was the clergyman who had performed the ceremony. Next came a girl friend, and then a man, by whose side Johnny sat.
He recognised the leathery features instantly.
“Been away, Johnny?” Detective-Superintendent Craig asked the question in a voice so carefully pitched that it did not reach any farther than the man to whom he spoke.
The chatter and buzz of conversation, the little ripples of laughter that ran up and down the table, did something to make the privacy of their talk assured.
As Old Barney bent over to serve a dish, Craig gave a sidelong glance at his companion.
“Peter’s got old Barney still—keeping honest, Barney?”
“I’m naturally that way,” said Barney sotto voce. “It’s not meeting policemen that keeps me straight.”
The hard features of the detective relaxed.
“There are lots of other people who could say that, Barney,” he said, and when the man had passed to the next guest: “He’s all right. Barney never was a bad man. I think he only did one stretch—he wouldn’t have done that if he’d had Peter’s imagination, Johnny.”
“Peter’s imagination?”
“I’m not referring to his present imagination, but the gift he had fourteen—fifteen years ago. Peter was the cleverest of them all. The brilliant way his attack was planned, the masterly line of retreat, the wonderful alibis, so beautifully dovetailed into one another that, if we had pinched him, he’d not only have been discharged, but he would have got something from the poor box! It used to be the life ambition of every young officer to catch him, to find some error of judgment, some flaw in his plan. But it was police-proof and foolproof.”
“He’d blush to hear you,” said the other dryly.
“But it’s true, Johnny! The clever letters he used to write, all to fool us. He did a lot of work with letters—getting people together, luring ’em to the place he wanted ’em and where their presence served him best. I remember how he got my chief to be at Charing Cross under the clock at ten-past nine, and showed up himself and made him prove his alibi!” He laughed gently.
“I suppose,” said Gray, “people would think it remarkable that you and he are such good friends?”
“They wouldn’t say it was remarkable; they’d say it was damned suspicious!” growled the other. “Having a drink?” he said suddenly, and pulled a wine bottle across the table.
“No, thanks—I seldom drink. We have to keep a very clear head in our business. We can’t afford to dream.”
“We can’t afford anything else,” said Craig. “Why ‘our business,’ old man? You’re out of that?”
Johnny saw the girl look toward him. It was only a glance—but in that brief flash he saw all that he feared to see—the terror, the bewilderment, the helplessness. He set his teeth and turned abruptly to the detective.
“How is your business?” he asked.
“Quiet.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said John Gray
