He paused over two things. One was an abrupt note from Winter. “Have you noticed this? It is from Monday’s Times.”
Pasted on a sheet of paper was a cutting from the personal column.
“Panjandrum. Urgent. All fixed for tonight. Keep Walloper straight, and inform. Have not seen him. Piccadilly Tube. Same time.”
Now, it was on Monday night that the theft had occurred, and the personal column is a simple means of communication between those who do not care to risk the mails or a direct interview. Of course, the advertisement might have been inserted by an entirely innocent person outside the affair. On the other hand it was likely enough to have some bearing on the crime.
The other document that interested Labar was a report from a smart young detective sergeant who was in charge of an outlying station. It told of one, Gold Dust Teddy, who had left his little suburban house on the Monday, and had been absent all night. Teddy was one of the few men who had the craftsmanship to execute a great burglary. He was not a great thief for two reasons. Apart from an uncanny mechanical skill he had no other asset for his career—no imagination, no finesse. And he had periodical drinking bouts. These two things had brought him to grief on occasion. The hallmark of his failure was that his fingerprints were on record at Scotland Yard.
Teddy, it appeared—one may observe the use of the informant in the detective sergeant’s report—had been on the water-wagon for some time. But a week ago he had broken out. For two or three days he had drunk steadily, and finished up by breaking the jaw of one of his boon companions who had refused to lend him money. Then he had laid up to recover as was his habit. On Tuesday he had gone on a drinking bout again, and that seemed likely to continue indefinitely. During his absence the sergeant had talked with his wife, who would give nothing away. But he had rescued from the grate of a room during the conversation a half-burnt scrap of paper which he enclosed.
“All ready. Cut out b⸺ put you in the mud. Meet—”
Labar considered matters thoughtfully. This was too good to be true. If he was able to add two and two together correctly it might lead anywhere. It looked reasonably certain that Gold Dust Teddy was one of Larry’s tools. All the same, to rope in a drunken burglar did not of necessity mean that he would be any nearer to getting Larry Hughes. It was on record that Larry had contrived to slip from the meshes on similar occasions.
He sent for one of his men. “Go out and see Simmons. Tell him that you’re to help him bring in Gold Dust Teddy. If Teddy wants to know why he’s pinched you haven’t got any idea. Follow that. Just bring him in. Take a pair of cuffs with you. He may be rough to handle.”
The theory that a Scotland Yard man carries handcuffs habitually in his pocket dies hard. They are heavy things, and he takes them only when he needs them, which is seldom.
A ragged shrill whistle which remotely resembled a tune heralded the entrance of Malone. “You here, guv’nor. There’s a lady asking to see you downstairs. Passed her on the way up.”
“Can’t see anyone this morning, Bill. It’s my busy day. Somebody whose cook has got away with the fish knives I expect. You go and have a word with her.”
“I think you’ll see this one,” said Malone. “She’s Miss Penelope Noelson.”
The girl was pale, but her voice was firm as she returned Labar’s formal greeting.
“I was on my way to see you,” he said.
“I expected you earlier,” she returned a trifle wearily. “As you didn’t come I thought it well—”
“I hope you let me have the full story,” he interrupted. “You have had time to sleep over it, and perhaps you will see the wisdom of being absolutely frank. But understand you are not compelled to say anything. I shall conceivably have to use it against you.”
“It has been a nightmare since yesterday,” she confessed, speaking slowly, as with effort. “If you intend to arrest me you will have to. I know—what you think—I don’t blame you.” She choked back something very like a sob. “I can only tell you I am almost innocent. I can see how black things must look to you; but that is the truth. There are others—I cannot tell you all.”
There is a wholesome rule that a police officer must not question a person whom he knows he will in all probability have to arrest. It is a rule which strictly applied would leave many mysteries unexplained, and detectives have at times to walk warily round it, taking a certain amount of risk.
“You are almost innocent,” he repeated. “What does that mean, exactly? There are other people you are shielding? Come, Miss Noelson, there is nothing to be gained by hanging back. Do you know what this mistaken chivalry may mean? It will save no one. It may mean disgrace—ruin—the prison taint—for you. Why take the chance—the almost certainty?”
He was leaning across the table with folded arms, his eyes fixed on her face. She avoided his gaze, and her hands tortured a small handkerchief. Clearly she was moved almost beyond endurance.
“Oh, leave me alone,” she cried. “Can’t
