“You have gleams of inspiration,” said Labar. “I believe I will.”
He swung off whistling softly. That evening he contrived to find one who was willing to take him as a guest to one of the two great bookmakers’ clubs in London. The racecourse in some degree impinges on the work of all detectives, because it is a sport in which many of their clients are interested. Consequently, there were several of the men present who knew the detective, and he was able to hold unostentatious converse with some of the bigger operators—men he knew who would answer his questions and keep their own counsel.
The inspector’s methods of approach varied with his man. Now he would plunge into a question point blank, and again he would lead up to his point through side issues. But mostly he drew blank.
He slid into a seat fronting a billiard table by a blue jowled, plump man with a frosty eye, who enveloped his hand in a leg of mutton fist.
“How are ye, Mr. Labar? Just looking round or are ye here to do a bit of business? I’ll lay ten to one that you want to know sommat. What are ye takin’?”
“A small tonic will do me, thank you, Mr. Dickinson.”
The big north-countryman (known to every racecourse frequenter in the country from royalty downwards as “Dickie,” and reputed to have acquired a colossal fortune on the turf) protested at the mildness of the drink. Labar, however, was firm and the other gave the order.
“Now I know ye’re after ferreting sommat out of me, lad. Spit it out. What dost want to know?”
He turned his moon of a face to the detective and his cold eyes narrowed. “Dickie” never beat about the bush.
Labar was equally blunt. “Has a Mrs. Gertstein an account with you?”
“That hellcat. She’s in my ribs for a thousand or two.”
“Passing up settling day lately, I suppose?”
“She is and all. There’s been no settling day for her for a month or two. See you, I don’t mind a bit of rope, but, when a skirt plays this ‘heads I win, tails you lose’ game too often, it isn’t good enough for Dickie. That’s the worst of betting with women.”
“Ah. You’ve wanted to see the colour of her money?”
“Aye. Not that I’ve been dunning her. Maybe Tony, my clerk, has dropped a hint. She’s got a rich husband; though they’re not always the best payers. I don’t argue with that sort. ‘Well, mem,’ I says, when she comes up to me at Kempton, all jam and honey. ‘I got seven small children to keep in boot leather. I can’t lay them boots to nothin’. When that hole which you’ve bitten in my pocketbook is filled up, I’ll maybe consider makin’ a bet with you. I don’t want to offend you, mem,’ I says, ‘but this ain’t business. Nowt for nowt is my motto,’ I says, and with that she tosses her head and went off in a huff.”
“So she stung you. Any others?”
“Yes. She got under the guard of one or two of ’em. Howsumever we reckons to get our bit when the time comes. The old ’un has got the dough, and she’ll wheedle it out of him. She ain’t so much crooked as flippity—and she’s a reg’ler little spitfire when she can’t get her own way.”
Refusing another drink, Labar edged away, leaving Dickie to pass caustic comments on the merits of the billiard players. He had learned enough to verify the writer of the anonymous letter. Mrs. Gertstein was certainly in debt to the bookmakers. That fact was, as Moreland had pointed out, in itself of no importance. But it was of significance taken in conjunction with other things. He began mentally to elaborate a theory.
X
Through the gate of a high wall set about a low-built house the car containing Penelope Noelson and Larry Hughes passed. A ground mist as high as a man’s waist was rising; but as far as the girl could see there was nothing within view of the place but a desolate and dreary tract of marshland. She shivered as though the spot chilled her.
Larry helped her to descend. “This is my country home,” he said, “a place I picked up cheap because it is eight miles from a railway station, and five from anything resembling a road. Tricky business, too, for a stranger to find a way about these marshes.”
She did not miss the hint. “You think you are going to hold me as a sort of prisoner here? Don’t forget, Mr. Hughes, that I have friends.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “Nothing so melodramatic as that, I assure you. You are my guest. I’m afraid you will find the accommodation a little rough, but I assure you we will do our best to make you comfortable till I have time to make other arrangements. As for your friends—including Inspector Labar—they will not worry us. For your own sake it will be well to make yourself at home. I don’t want you to get lost, so it will be better for you to keep within the walls of the grounds.”
Pushing an arm through hers he led her up a stoneflagged pathway into the house. A big-boned, pleasant-looking woman was standing on the threshold.
“This is Mrs. Lengholm,” he said. “We call her Sophie. She will look after you. Did you get my wire, Sophie?”
“Yes, sir. Everything is ready. There’s a fire in the lady’s room, and, as you said she had to leave hurriedly, I got a few clothes and other necessaries for her.”
“Thank you. Then she may like you to show her to her room.” He turned to Penelope. “If there is anything you would like, just tell Sophie. And I hope you will not waste your time trying to bribe or threaten her. We have known each other a long time, Sophie
