“Half a second,” he interrupted. “This extraordinary way you used to pass me the money. Do I understand that you intended that I shouldn’t know from whom it came, until I was brought into the case? Then I should find out from the numbers of the notes that I had become implicated, and should have my hands tied.”
“That was my idea. I did not want to give myself away to you unless the forgery was discovered. I hoped it might pass unnoticed.”
“A sanguine, not to say naive scheme,” he commented dryly. “Where does Miss Noelson come in?”
“She knew I was in trouble, but naturally she did not know all the details. I couldn’t trust anyone. But I told her I had special reasons for wanting to deliver a note to a man I would point out, and she agreed to help me. I had a chauffeur’s uniform made to fit me and drove up to town with her. She was to deny that I had left ‘Maid’s Retreat’ if anyone questioned her. I sent her to do some shopping after we arrived in town while I hung about Grape Street till you came out. I followed you to Scotland Yard, and while you were there I went back and met Penelope and the car. I guessed that you would return to Grape Street by the same route and we waited for you. After that I went back to Hampshire and she stayed in town.”
“Still another point that I am not quite clear about,” he said. “Why did you come back that evening and lay in wait for me with a sandbag?”
“The news of the burglary had been telephoned down to me. I had talked with my husband after he saw you. I had talked with Penelope. You had recognised her and I was alarmed at what you might find out. I saw that I had made a mistake. I had been told that all police officers would take money if they could do it safely.”
“Thank you,” he said ironically. “It is an impression that some other people have.”
There fell a silence for a while. He was thinking, with a puzzled little frown on his forehead, and the woman with burning eyes studied him as though to read what was passing in his mind. Presently he spoke again.
“Has Larry Hughes ever been in Streetly House?”
“Not so far as I know. I have never taken him there.”
“You have discussed the place with him—talked over your husband’s collection?”
“At times. They have been quite casual conversations.”
Labar racked his brain. This seemed to be leading nowhere. Yet if Larry Hughes was at the bottom of the burglary it was inconceivable that he should not have used his acquaintance with Mrs. Gertstein to further his projects. No doubt those “casual conversations” had told him more than the woman dreamt. A point flashed to his mind.
“Have you found positions at Streetly House for any persons in whom Hughes was interested?”
She reflected. “I can’t quite remember. I believe there was someone—ah! yes—an odd-job man. I can’t remember his name, but it was someone with an excellent record whom Mr. Hughes was trying to help. He asked me to speak to the butler about him, and I think he was engaged.”
“You don’t remember his name? Was it Law—or Jones—or Lane—or Wright?” he recited such names as he could recall of the big staff at Streetly House, and she shook her head at each one. He wondered if someone had evaded his questioning when he had examined the servants. “Had this man been engaged in Hughes’ service?”
She passed a hand with a weary gesture over her forehead. “No, I am sure that he had never been with Mr. Hughes. I believe he came from some big restaurant that was reducing its staff. I’ve got it. His name was Stebbins.”
Offhand Labar could not place the name among those he had interviewed. But, of course, it would be easy to get hold of the man now. Here at least there would be one link if he played his cards well that would lead to the conviction of Larry Hughes.
A shadow darkened the French windows and Labar sprang to his feet. A cold voice addressed him.
“Keep your hands down if you please and don’t make any hasty move. I’m afraid that I’m a little late.”
Larry Hughes holding an automatic in front of him stepped into the room.
XIV
Hughes leaned his back to the wall near the window and his gaze wandered from one to the other while the pistol dangled in his hand. He could not fail to observe the signs of the struggle.
“I seem to have interrupted a tête-à-tête,” he said sardonically. “What’s the tiff about?”
Labar measured his distance. A flicker of amusement passed over Larry’s face, and he lifted his weapon a little. The detective dropped back in his chair.
“This is a surprise, Larry,” he said amiably. “What’s brought you here?”
The other showed his white teeth in a grin. “Like the chivalrous idiot that I am, I have flown to the aid of beauty in distress.” He bowed to Mrs. Gertstein. “I feel compunctuous that circumstances held me from being earlier.”
“So you got my letter?” The woman flashed a furious glance to Labar. “This man said that he had intercepted it.”
Larry flung up a deprecating hand. “Leave this to me, Adèle. Our Mr. Labar is a truthful man.” He broke into a snatch of song. “ ‘He always tries to utter lies and every time he fails.’ Mr. Labar did me the honour to tamper with my correspondence. Unfortunately his minions, who should have known better, resealed the letter rather hastily. A suspicious man like myself applied the lessons of Scotland Yard and dusted the note with graphite. That developed a man’s thumb mark. I felt sure, my dear Adèle, that you would not have shown so intimate a letter to any person, and, my dear Watson”—he smiled triumphantly at the inspector—“I drew the conclusion that
