“What are your terms?”
“Twenty pounds a question. You have asked six questions to which I can give complete answers and one which I can answer partially; say six twenties and one ten—total, one hundred and thirty pounds.”
“But it’s iniquitous, scandalous, extortionate! I shouldn’t think of paying such a sum.”
“No, sir? That’s a matter for yourself alone. It seems to me, then, that our business is completed.” The man paused, then as Cheyne made no move continued confidentially. “You see, sir, I needn’t tell a gentleman like yourself that value is relative and not absolute. If I hadn’t another party willing to pay for my information about you I couldn’t perhaps afford to refuse what you might be pleased to offer. But if I don’t get my hundred and thirty from you I’ll get it from the other party. It’s a matter of £. s. d. for me.”
“But how do I know you won’t get my hundred and thirty and then go to the other party for his?”
Mr. Speedwell smiled craftily.
“You don’t know, sir. In these matters one person has to take the other’s word. You pay your money and you get the information you ask for. You don’t pay and I keep it. It’s for you to say what you’ll do.”
Cheyne sat in thought. It was evident this man could give him valuable information, and he was well aware that if he had employed him to obtain it it might easily have cost him more than the sum asked. He did not doubt, either, that the quartet had asked for information about himself. When his dead body had not been found it would have been a likely move. But he was surprised that they should have asked under their own names. But then again, they mightn’t have. Speedwell might have found these out. It was certainly an extraordinary coincidence that himself and the gang should have consulted the same private detective, though of course there was nothing inherently impossible in it.
On the whole he felt disposed to pay the money. He was comfortably enough off and he would scarcely feel it. The payment would not commit him to anything or put him in any way in the power of this detective. Moreover, the man was evidently skillful at his job and it might be useful enough to have him on his side. And last, but not least, after his failure of the day before it would be a pleasure to go back to Miss Merrill and tell her how well he had succeeded on this occasion.
“Look here,” he said. “I don’t think you can expect me to believe that these people came and asked you to find the burglar who had made off with their confidential paper, so that they might prosecute. That’s rather tall, you know. Why didn’t they go direct to the police?”
“I’m only telling you what they said. I’m not saying I believed it was really what they wanted.” Speedwell paused. “As a matter of fact I don’t mind telling you what I think,” he went on presently. “I believe they are scared about you, and they want to find you to finish up the job they bungled. That’s what I think, but I may be wrong.”
“And if I pay you your hundred and thirty you’ll give me your pledge not to give them the information?”
Mr. Speedwell looked pained.
“I don’t think I said that, sir. It was two hundred that was mentioned. But see here. I don’t want to be grasping. If you make it the even hundred and fifty I’ll answer your questions and not theirs. Is it a bargain, sir?”
“Yes,” said Cheyne. “I have my checkbook here and I’ll fill you in a check for the money as soon as I get your replies.”
Mr. Speedwell beamed.
“Excellent, sir. An amicable settlement. That’s what I like. Well, sir, I can trust you to keep your word. Here are the answers to your questions.” He took a bulky notebook from his pocket and continued:
“First question, Dangle’s present address: Earlswood, Dalton Avenue, Wembley.” He waited while Cheyne wrote the address, then went on: “Second question, Sime’s present address: 12 Colton Street, Putney.” Again a pause and then: “Third question, Blessington’s present address: Earlswood, Dalton Av—”
“The same as Dangle’s?”
“The same as Dangle’s, or rather, to be strictly accurate, Dangle’s is the same as Blessington’s. Blessington lives at this place and has for several years; Dangle joined him about six weeks ago, to be precise, on the day after the incident which I have just forgotten.”
Cheyne nodded with a rueful smile.
“Well, then, these men’s occupations?”
Mr. Speedwell was not to be hurried.
“Fourth question,” he proceeded methodically, “Dangle’s occupation. Dangle, Mr. Cheyne, is just an ordinary town sharp. He has a bit of money and adds to it in the usual ways. He’s in with a cardsharping gang and helps them in their stunts—for a consideration. He frequents a West End gaming room, and if there is any fat pigeon around he’ll lend a hand in the plucking. The sister helps as a decoy. They’re a warm pair and I should think are watched by the police. They’ll not want their dealings with you to come into the limelight anyway, so you’ve a pull over them there.”
“Has Dangle no ostensible profession?”
“Not that I know of, unless you call billiard playing a profession.”
“You might give me the address of the gaming rooms.”
“27 Greenway Lane, Knightsbridge.”
“What about Sime?”
“Sime is another of the same kidney. He does the night club end and brings likely mugs on to the gaming rooms. A plausible ruffian, Sime. A man without scruple and bad to be up against. He has no ostensible business, either.”
“And Blessington?”
“Blessington is, in my opinion, the worst of the three. He has ten times the brains of the other two put together and is an out and out scoundrel. He’s well enough off in a small way and is supposed to have made his money by systematic blackmail. He’s supplying the cash for this little do
