Later that night, just as Big Ben was taking breath preparatory to his supreme effort, Malcolm Sage was seated in his big arm-chair smoking a final pipe before bed, and turning over in his mind the happenings of the day and the probable events of the morrow.
His train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a hammering at the outer door of his chambers, followed by the sound of loud and hilarious voices as Rogers answered the summons.
A moment later the door of the sitting-room burst open, and there flowed into the room Charley Burns and his entourage, all obviously in the best of spirits. In the background stood Rogers, with expressionless face, looking towards his master.
Malcolm Sage rose and shook hands with Burns, Mr. Doulton and Mr.Papwith, Alf Pond and his assistants.
"Sorry, Mr. Sage," cried Burns, with a laugh; "but the boys wouldn't wait, although I told them calling time was four till six," and he laughed again, the laugh of a man who has not a care in the world. He also gripped Malcolm Sage's hand with a heartiness that made him wince. The others in turn shook hands in a way that caused Malcolm Sage to wonder why America had not long since ceased to be a Republic.
The men dropped into chairs in various parts of the room, and Rogers, who had disappeared at a signal from Malcolm Sage, now returned with a tray of glasses, syphons, and decanters. Soon the whole company was drinking the health of Malcolm Sage with an earnestness which convinced him that on the morrow there would be trouble with Colonel Sappinger, who lived above and cherished Carlyle's hatred of sound.
"And now, Mr. Sage," said Alf Pond, "we want to know how you found Charley. He won't tell us anythink. Wonderful, I call it," he added, and there was a murmur of assent from the others, as they proceeded to light the cigars that Rogers handed round.
"It was not very difficult," said Malcolm Sage, stuffing tobacco into his pipe from a terra-cotta jar beside him. As he applied a light to the bowl the others exchanged glances.
"From the first," he continued, "it was obvious that some message, or letter, had been conveyed to our friend Burns." He gazed across at the champion, who looked uncomfortable.
"As he had not mentioned the fact to any of his friends," continued Malcolm Sage, a little slyly, "it seemed obvious to assume that there was a lady in the case."
Alf Pond looked reproachfully at Burns, who reddened beneath the united gaze of seven pairs of eyes.
"That the appointment had been for the evening," proceeded Malcolm Sage, "was obvious from the fact that Burns disappeared in the blue suit he always changed into after the day's work."
Alf Pond looked across at Mr. Doulton, nodding his approval of the reasoning.
"It was Kitty, or I thought it was," burst out Burns. "She said something terrible had happened and that she must see me," he added.
Kitty Graham was shortly to become Mrs. Charley Burns, but during the period of training she had been rigorously excluded from all intercourse with her fiancé by order of the autocratic Alf Pond.
"The meeting was arranged for the further side of the large clump of rhododendrons, which acted as a screen," continued Malcolm Sage. "When Burns arrived there, he saw a girl standing a little distance away. Before he could reach her, however, he was seized and a chloroformed pad held over his mouth. The suddenness of the attack dazed him; he did not struggle, but held his breath; he——"
"How the blazes did you know that, Mr. Sage?" burst out Burns.
"You are always a quick-thinker in the ring," said Malcolm Sage, "and you were a quick-thinker then. You smelt chloroform, held your breath and thought. It was a sort of instinctive ring-craft."
"But you——" began Burns.
"There were no marks of a struggle where you were seized. You probably realised that your only chance lay in letting the enemy think you were losing consciousness?"
Burns nodded.
"Seeing that there was no sign of trouble," continued Malcolm Sage, "the principal in this little affair stepped out from where he had been taking cover just at the moment when Burns broke loose and let out. Movement has always a primary attraction for the eye, and Burns got this man full on the nose and ruined it. He also sent him clean into the privet-hedge, where he collapsed."
"Who was it?" demanded Alf Pond fiercely.
"There were, however, too many of them for Burns," continued Malcolm Sage, ignoring the question. "They had planned the attack very carefully, each clinging to a limb. Soon they had him unconscious and bound in the car. Then they turned their attention to their leader."
"Yes; but how did you find Burns?" asked Mr. Doulton eagerly.
"I didn't," said Malcolm Sage. "They showed me where he was."
"But——" began Mr. Papwith, whose shiny cleanshaven face, normally suggestive of a Turner sunset, now looked like a conflagration.
"After half an hour's fruitless effort to track the car down side-roads, I returned to London as fast as my man could take me," proceeded Malcolm Sage, "and I immediately set enquiries on foot as to the betting on the Stock Exchange, at Tattersall's, the National Sporting Club, and other places. By three o'clock that afternoon I knew pretty well who it was that had been laying heavily against Burns. That simplified matters."
Alf Pond and Burns exchanged admiring glances.
"As you know, for more than a week previously the betting had made it clear that heavy sums were being laid on Jefferson. In the course of ten days it had veered round from 5 to 4 on Burns to 9 to 2 against. As there were no rumours detrimental to his condition or state of health, this could only mean that a lot of money was being put on Jefferson. I found out the names of the principal layers and the amounts. I discovered that all were extremely active with the exception of one. That I decided was the man with the umbrella."
"Who's he?" demanded Sandy, whose mouth had not ceased to gape sinceMalcolm Sage began his story.
"The man Burns knocked out. He had been leaning rather heavily on the handle whilst taking cover behind a holly-bush, and the metal cap at base of the silk was clearly marked on the ground. He was also holding an unlit cigar in his hand, which he left in the hedge. By great good chance this was recognised by someone I happen to know as a brand smoked by a certain backer of Jefferson."
"Well, I'm damned!" broke in Alf Pond, with intense earnestness.
"So you see, I had quite a lot to help me. I was searching for a well-dressed man——"
"But how did you know he was well-dressed?" queried Mr. Doulton.
"His footprints showed that he wore boots of a fashionable model," explained Malcolm Sage. "He also carried an umbrella, even on an occasion such as this.
"I had to look for a well-dressed man who always carried an umbrella, and who smoked large and expensive cigars and, most important of all, whose nose had been smashed out of all recognition."
"But how could you tell I got him on the nose?" demanded Burns, leaning forward eagerly.
"There was quite a pool of blood beneath the hedge," explained Malcolm Sage. "He was probably there for some minutes while his friends were making sure of you, Burns. Blood would not have flowed so generously as a result of a blow from the fist except from the nose."
"You're a knock-out, that's what you are, Mr. Sage," said Alf Pond, with admiring conviction. "I'dnever have thought of it all," he added, with the air of one desiring to be absolutely fair.
"Finally," continued Malcolm Sage, "there was the car. It was a large car, a defect in one of the tyres enabled me to determine that by a steel rule. It was obviously heavily laden and the near back-wheel was out of track. This fact, of course, was of no help on the high-road, where other cars would blot out the track; but if I could show that someone who had been heavily backing Jefferson had a nose badly damaged, and a car with a near back-wheel out of track in just the same way that this particular wheel was out of track, and that its tyres were the same as those of the car that drew up outside Burns's training-quarters, then I should have a wealth of circumstantial evidence that it would be almost impossible to confute.
"From a friend at Scotland Yard I obtained the number of the car belonging to the man whom this evidence involved.
"As Stainton is off the Portsmouth Road, I telephoned to the Automobile Association patrols at Putney Hill, Esher, and Clandon Cross Roads. I was told that on the previous evening this particular car was seen going in the direction of Guildford. These patrols take the numbers of all cars that pass. As it had not passed Liss, where the next patrol is stationed, it was another link in the chain."
"Well, I'm blowed!" The exclamation broke involuntarily from Kid.
"As the patrols go off duty at dusk, I could get no further help from them," continued Malcolm Sage. "I sent a man to watch Jefferson's training-quarters, although I was fairly certain that he and his party were in no way involved."
Malcolm Sage went on to narrate his call upon Nathan Goldschmidt, carefully omitting any mention of the name or address. His hearers listened with breathless interest.
"I concluded that they had taken their prisoner to some lonely, empty house," he explained, "but there was not time to search all the empty houses in the home counties, so the man with the damaged nose had to come with me in my car, and his friends followed in his."
"But how did you manage it?" gasped Mr. Papwith.
"At first they showed fight," said Malcolm Sage, "and threatened to keep me prisoner until after the fight."
"Gee!" exclaimed Kid.
"I anticipated some such move, and had instructed my people that unless I were back by half-past four, they were to deliver certain packets to the editors of well-known London papers. In these packets was told the story as far as I had been able to trace it. This I informed them."
"What did they say to that?" asked Mr. Doulton.
"They insisted that I telephone countermanding my orders; but as I explained that I had told my man Thompson he was to disregard any telephone message, or written instructions, he might receive from me, they realised that the game was up. I also informed them that Inspector Wensdale and two of his men were waiting at my office in anticipation of a possible hold-up."
"Well, I'm blessed," exclaimed Alf Pond. "If you ain't it."
"I pointed out," continued Malcolm Sage, "that whereas by producing Burns they would have a fight for their money, if the truth became known not only would their bets most likely be forfeited, but they would probably have to go to law to recover their stake-money. I further pledged Mr. Doulton, Mr. Papwith, and Burns not to take any legal action. I rather suspect that in this I was technically conspiring to defeat the ends of justice."
"But weren't you afraid they'd do a double cross?" asked Burns.
"They heard me instruct one of my assistants that unless I were back by nine o'clock that evening, the notes I had written and addressed were to be delivered.Incidentally the inspector was present, unofficially of course."
"You oughter been in the ring with a head like that," said Alf Pond sorrowfully.
"We found Burns fairly comfortable in the wine-cellar of an empty house near Ripley. They had left him food and water and beer. In all probability on awakening to-morrow morning, had we not found him, he would have discovered the door unlocked and himself no longer a prisoner." Malcolm Sage paused with the air of one who has told his story.
"But why did you keep Papwith and me at Stainton until late this afternoon?" enquired Mr. Doulton.
"In the first instance, to be in charge and to see that Burns's disappearance was kept secret. It was obvious that every endeavour would be made to put a lot of money on Jefferson before the fact became known. This would lead to rumour, and later to enquiry. Subsequently I decided that you were both better out of London, as you would have been interviewed and bound to give something away, in spite of the utmost caution."
"And now, Mr. Sage," said Mr. Doulton, "who are the scroundrels?"
"I have promised not to give their names," was the quiet reply.
"Not give their names?" cried several of his hearers in unison.
Malcolm Sage then proceeded to explain that unless the gang had seen a loop-hole of escape they would not have thrown up the sponge. Had exposure been inevitable in any case, they would have brazened it out, knowing that, whatever happened to themselves, Burns could not appear at the Olympia. The knowledge that their identity would not be divulged tempted them to risk the loss of their money. "Apart from this," he added, "the details I was able to give seemed to convince them that they had either been watched or given away."
"You must remember that they have lost enormous sums of money," Malcolm Sage went on, "and there will be another 1,000 pounds for St. Timothy's Hospital. It was further understood that, if I could discover anyone of them had inspired a covering bet, I was released from my promise. This is why the odds got to six to one. Incidentally they ensured the defeat of their man. When Burns entered the ring tonight, it was to fight, not to box."
"That's true," said Alf Pond, nodding his head and reaching for another cigar. "He never fought like it before in all his puff."
"And where were you last night?" enquired Mr. Papwith of Burns.
"In my bed," said Malcolm Sage, "and my friend Inspector Wensdale ofScotland Yard and I slept here. Burns has never been out ofWensdale's sight until we handed him over this evening."
"I've been having police protection," laughed Burns.
"Still, you didn't oughter have gone two days without doing anythink," said Alf Pond.
"Oh! I had a bit of sparring with Mr. Sage," said Burns, "in spite of the glasses. If you want to see some pretty foot-work, Alf, you get him to put the gloves on."
"I knew it," cried Alf Pond, with conviction; then, turning to the others, "Didn't I say he oughter been in the ring?"
And Malcolm Sage found relief from the admiring eyes of his guests in gazing down at the well-bitten mouthpiece of his briar.
"But why did you let me think that Jefferson and his crowd were in it?" enquired Burns, with corrugated brow.
"Well," said Malcolm Sage slowly, "as I had put twenty-five pounds on you to steady Pond's nerves, I didn't want to lose it."
And Alf Pond winked gleefully across at Mr. Doulton.
"Lady Dene wishes to see you, Miss."
"Sure the Archbishop of Canterbury isn't with her, Johnnie dear?" asked Gladys Norman sweetly, without looking up from the cleaning of her typewriter. In her own mind she was satisfied that this was a little joke inspired by Thompson.
"No, Miss, she's alone," replied the literal William Johnson.
"Show her Ladyship in," she said, still playing for safety. "Da—— sh!" she muttered as, having inadvertently touched the release, the carriage slid to the left, pinching her finger in its course.
William Johnson departed, his head half turned over his right shoulder in admiration of one who could hear with such unconcern that a real lady had called to see her.
As her door opened for a second time, Gladys Norman assiduously kept her eyes fixed upon her machine.
"No, Johnnie," she remarked, still without looking up. "It's no good. Lady Denes don't call upon typists at 9.30 a.m., so buzz off, little beanlet. I'm——"
"But this Lady Dene does."
Gladys Norman jumped to her feet, knocking over the benzine bottle and dropping her brush into the vitals of the machine.
Before her stood a fair-haired girl, her violet eyes brimming with mischievous laughter, whilst in her arms she carried a mass of red roses.
"I'm so sorry," faltered Gladys Norman, biting her lower lip, and conscious of her heightened colour and the violet-stained gloves that had once been white. "I thought Johnnie was playing a joke."
Lady Dene nodded brightly, whilst Gladys Norman stooped to pick up the benzine bottle, then with a motion of her head indicated to William Johnson that his presence was no longer required. Reluctantly the lad turned, and a moment later the door closed slowly behind him.
"I want you to help me," said Lady Dene, dropping the roses on to the leaf of Gladys Norman's typing-table. "These are for Mr. Sage."
"For the Chief?" cried Gladys Norman in astonishment. Then she laughed. The idea of a riot of red roses in Malcolm Sage's room struck her as funny.
"You see," said Lady Dene, "this is the birthday of the Malcolm SageBureau, and I'm going to decorate his room."
"I don't——" began Gladys Norman hesitatingly, when Lady Dene interrupted her.
"It's all right," she cried, "I'll take all the responsibility."
"But we've got no vases," objected Gladys Norman.
"My chauffeur has some in the car, and there are heaps more roses," she added.
"More?" cried Gladys Norman aghast.
"Heaps," repeated Lady Dene, dimpling with laughter at the consternation on Gladys Norman's face. "Ah! here they are," as the door opened and a mass of white roses appeared, with a florid face peering over the top.
"Put them down there, Smithson," said Lady Dene, indicating a spot in front of Gladys Norman's table. "Now fetch the vases and the rest of the roses."
"The rest!" exclaimed Gladys Norman.
Lady Dene laughed. She was thoroughly enjoying the girl's bewilderment.
"He's not come yet?" she interrogated.
The girl shook her head.
"He won't be here for half-an-hour yet," she said. "He had to go down into the city."
"That will just give us time," cried Lady Dene, stooping and picking up an armful of the white roses. "You bring the red ones," she cried over her shoulder, as she passed through Malcolm Sage's door, just as Smithson entered with several purple vases.
Picking up the red roses, Gladys Norman followed the others into Malcolm Sage's room. Her feelings were those of someone constrained to commit sacrilege against her will.
"Now get some water, Smithson."
"Water, my Lady?" repeated Smithson, looking about him vaguely, asMoses might have done in the wilderness.
"Yes; ask the lad. Be quick," cried Lady Dene, with deft fingers beginning to arrange the roses in the vases. "Oh! please help me," she cried, turning to Gladys Norman, who had stood watching her as if fascinated.
"But——" she began, when Lady Dene interrupted her.
"Quick!" cried Lady Dene excitedly, "or he'll be here before we've finished."
Then, convinced that it was the work of Kismet, or the devil, GladysNorman threw herself into the task of arranging the flowers.
When Thompson arrived some ten minutes later, he stood at the door of Malcolm Sage's room "listening with his mouth," as Gladys Norman had expressed it. When he had regained the power of speech, he uttered two words.
"Jumping Je-hosh-o-phat!"; but into them he precipitated all the emotion of his being.
"Go away, Tommy, we're busy," cried Gladys Norman over her shoulder. "Do you hear; go away," she repeated, stamping her foot angrily as he made no movement to obey, and Thompson slid away and closed the door, convinced that in the course of the next half-hour there would be the very deuce to pay.
He knew the Chief better than Gladys, he told himself, and if there were one thing calculated to bring out all the sternness in his nature it was flippancy, and what could be more flippant than decorating the room of a great detective with huge bowls and vases of red and white roses.
Regardless of Thompson's forebodings, Lady Dene smiled to herself as she put the finishing touches to the last vase, whilst Gladys Norman gathered up the litter of leaves and stalks that lay on the floor, throwing them into the fireplace. She then removed the last spots of water from Malcolm Sage's table.
Lady Dene took from her bag a small leather-case, which she opened and placed in the centre of the table opposite Malcolm Sage's chair. It was a platinum ring of antique workmanship, with a carbuchon of lapis lazuli.
"Oh, how lovely!" cried Gladys Norman, as she gazed at the ring's exquisite workmanship.
Presently, the two girls stepped back to gaze at their handiwork. In a few minutes they had transformed an austere, business-man's room into what looked like a miniature rose-show. From every point red and white roses seemed to nod their fragrant heads.
"I——" began Gladys Norman, then she stopped suddenly, arrested by a slight sound behind her. She span round on her heel. Malcolm Sage stood in the doorway, with Thompson and William Johnson a few feet behind him.
Slowly and deliberately he looked round the room; then his eyes rested on Lady Dene.
"How do you do, Lady Dene," he said quietly, extending his hand.
For a moment she was conscious of an unaccustomed sensation of fear.
"You're not cross?" she interrogated, looking up at him quizzically, her head a little on one side. "You see, it's the Bureau's birthday, and——" She stopped suddenly.
Malcolm Sage had dropped her hand and walked over to his table.Picking up the ring he examined it intently, then turned to LadyDene, interrogation in his eyes.
"It's from my husband and me," she said simply. "You have such lovely hands, and—and we should like you to wear it."
Without a word he removed the ring from the case and put it on the third finger of his right hand, which he then extended to Lady Dene, who took it with a little laugh of happiness.
"You're not really cross," she said, looking up at him a little anxiously.
"To me they stand for so much, Lady Dene," he said gravely, "that I am not even speculating as to their probable effect upon the faith of my clients."
And Malcolm Sage smiled.
It was that smile Gladys Norman saw as she closed the door behind her, and which Thompson resolutely refused to believe.