CHAPTER XII.
JOHN CARLETON'S BURGLAR ALARM.
I staredat her blankly.
"Game?" I said. "Game? I haven't any game. You've heard my story. It's the truth. I haven't anything else to tell or any game to play. What do you take me for?"
"Rats!" she answered, shortly.
Then she strode over to a side table upon which lay a square box with a button, like that of an electric bell.
"Have you ever seen one of these?" she inquired, pointing at it. "It is my brother's own invention, and he is thinking of patenting it. When this button is pressed (there's one of the machines in each room), every door leading out of the house, and every window (they are all of plate glass) by which it would be possible to escape, is simultaneously and automatically locked; a burglar alarm is set ringing in the kitchen, in the hall, and in all the men-servants'rooms, as well as in the stables; and by a particularly ingenious arrangement, of which my brother is especially proud, communication is also established with the nearest police station. Once inside the house, no thief, or burglar, if this button is pressed and the machinery is set going, can hope to escape, for he is as neatly trapped as any rat.
"Well, young man (I haven't been told your name), since it has leaked out that my brother is a millionaire and a philanthropist, every known dodge in the begging-letter line and in the blackmailing line has been tried on us; but, for sheer brazenry, I must say that your tale beats all. My niece believes in you—more fool she!—but I'll tell you what I think: every word that you have told us—except, perhaps, the fact of my brother having been kidnapped by this man you call the Dumpling—is an entire concoction; and if he really has been kidnapped as you say, why, you are clearly the kidnapper's accomplice, and have come here to sound us, and to pave the way for the abominable blackmailing which you call holding to ransom. If any further proof of your confederacy with theblackmailer is needed, that proof is supplied by the facts which my niece has just made known to me. She tells me that only yesterday morning, when she and I were at my brother's country house, she found that someone had rowed out to the centre of the lake in our boat, and, supposing it was I who was in the boat and that I had fallen asleep, she swam out and found you in it. You were there, of course, in your capacity of spy and shadower to your employer, and in order to acquaint yourself with my brother's movements. It's a pity she didn't leave you to be drowned—not that you'll be that, for I clearly foresee another fate in store for you, and a less pleasant one. And now, if you please, I propose sending for the police. I wonder if they'll believe your story."
"No," I said smilingly, "they won't. I can tell you that before you send, if it will be saving you any trouble."
"Ho! ho!" she said, triumphantly. "So you admit that I'm one too many for you. You're not such a fool as I thought. Anyhow, you're 'cute enough to know when you're dealing with a clever woman. It's wise of you. If you had persisted in brazeningme out with that preposterous tale, you'd have been clapped between four walls this very night. I mean what I say. But I'm not a hard-hearted woman, and, by the look of you, you ought to be a cut above being the accomplice of criminals and blackmailers."
After a pause, during which she regarded me with a stern but not altogether unfriendly eye, the good lady spoke again, this time almost pityingly:
"An accomplice of criminals and blackmailers! What brought you to it, young man? Drink—debt—gambling—or worse? Come, now, I don't want to be hard upon you. Make a clean breast of it, and I'll do what I can to help you back to an honest life. You have already confessed the falsehood of your story, and if——"
"I have done nothing of the sort," I interrupted indignantly. "My story is perfectly true—every word of it; and if you'll let me——"
"Your story perfectly true!" she thundered. "Why, you told me just now, with your own mouth, when I was going to send for the police—and that reminds me: I'll ring the bell and send for them now—thatyou knew they wouldn't believe it. If you're not the——"
"I know they won't believe it, because I've already told them," I cut in. "I see a telephone bell in the corner there. Ring up Inspector S——, of New Scotland Yard, or the Superintendent at —— Station, and ask them whether I haven't already been to them with the identical story. They don't believe me now, because they don't want to; but when the inquest is held and the facts come out, they'll find, and you'll find, that every word I have said is perfectly true. Or," I added—for she had actually rung the bell when threatening to send for the police, and the servant had come to the door in response—"or send out and buy an evening paper. You'll find the fact of the finding of the three bodies off Canvey Island, just as I have told you."
"You can go, Metcalfe," she said to the waiting servant. "I shan't want you at present."
Then she turned to me again.
"I don't know what to do," she said undecidedly. "If I let you go, and your story turns out to be a lie, you'll have decamped of course when you're wanted. IfI hand you over to the police, you'll be in safe keeping and——"
"It will mean a night in gaol, if you give me in charge at this hour," I interrupted, "in which case I shall certainly bring an action against you for false imprisonment."
"Yes," she said meditatively, walking over to a side-table and turning over some books as she spoke. "Yes, I suppose you would; and if your story is true I'm not sure that I should blame you if you did, for no one likes to be imprisoned when they've only told the truth. For the matter of that, I don't know that I shouldn't dislike the publicity of an action for false imprisonment more than you'd dislike the imprisonment; and my brother—there's no escape fromthatfact—would be furious with me for getting my name and his into the papers. I didn't believe a word of your story when I first heard it, but looking at you more closely, I must say that you don't look or talk like a liar, and I've a good mind to follow my instincts and trust you, after all."
The magnanimity of this sudden outburst of confidence in my integrity was somewhatlessened by the fact that, while affecting to turn over some books on the side-table, she had all the time been scanning an evening newspaper which lay neatly folded on the top of a pile of books. I had purchased a copy of the same journal earlier in the evening, and was well aware that a paragraph, describing the finding of the three bodies, was printed in large type at the top of the first page. Folded as the paper was, this paragraph was the most prominent item of news, and could scarcely fail to catch even a cursory eye.
Possibly the reading of the paragraph sufficiently confirmed my story to assist her to a decision.
"Come here, young man. I want to have a look at you," she said peremptorily, walking over to the light.
I obeyed, and for half a minute was subjected to the scrutiny of her keen but not unkindly eyes.
"That'll do!" she said, pushing me away testily. "I'm going to make a fool of myself; but anyhow, I'm going to trust you, fool or no fool. And now tell me what it is you want."
Some instinct told me that she was awoman to gain whose confidence one must give one's confidence. Looking her full in the face I made answer boldly:
"I want to marry your niece."