19000 Pound Part 45

He would wait another half hour and see. Perhaps after all there was no need for fright.

During that half hour Sawyer tapped at and opened the door.

"The gent that came yesterday, sir."

"His name?"

"Mr. Brown, sir."

"Show him in."

The dentist braced himself for the interview. He put the envelope containing the notes in his table drawer, and looked up as his visitor entered.

"Mr. Brown?"

"That's it."

"You were recommended here, I think, by some one whose teeth I attended to."

"Well, I don't think you attended to his teeth only."

"No."

"He was rather cut up by your treatment."

Gerald had his eyes fixed on the dentist, and when he had uttered that double meaning remark, he saw the man's face grow pale as death.

He knew then that his bolt had gone home; knew that he was on the right track at last.

He adopted bold measures. The dentist's appearance warranted them.

"Sit down, Mr. Lennox. You don't mind my turning the key in the door, so we shan't be disturbed, do you? That's it."

He seated himself opposite the dentist, and pulled out his hired-for-a-shilling handcuffs.

The effect of their production was electric. He was more than ever convinced that he was right.

"Of course," he said quietly, "you guess the game's up. That little game you and your brother played with Mr. George Depew when he came to have a tooth out?"

The dentist was incapable of an answer. He sat there as if turned to stone.

Gerald went on:

"I'm of the American detective force--you have perhaps heard of me, Detective Grabbem. I gave the name of Brown to your boy because I didn't want to give the show away."

Still no answer. Then Gerald said suddenly:

"Where are the nineteen thousand pound notes?"

For answer the tongue-tied dentist with trembling hand opened his drawer, and handed Gerald the envelope he had recently given to and taken from Sawyer.

"You intended them for the London police? I'm from New York."

Gerald opened the envelope and his eyes sparkled as he handled the notes.

As a measure of precaution he collated the numbers with the entries in his pocketbook--all were correct.

"I'll take charge of these," he said, as he put the notes in his pocket.

"Thanks for saving me trouble."

Then Gerald's anxiety was to get away. He said:

"Out of grat.i.tude for saving me bother, is there anything you would like me to do for you? Want to write to your friends or anything?"

He had got all he wanted, and he decided to leave with it as promptly as possible. The dentist found his tongue, and said:

"I would be grateful for half an hour for--for the purpose of writing to my friends."

"It's yours. There is no back way out of this house, I see. I'll just smoke a pipe outside. No tricks, mind. I'll be back in half an hour."

Gerald went out slowly, lighted a pipe within sight of the dentist's window, sauntered with his hands behind him, after the manner of one waiting, and then when he reached the corner, turned it, and bolted in the direction of Moorgate Street.

There he hailed a hansom and was rapidly driven to his lodgings. He was one of the happiest fares in a London cab that day.

And the dentist? He completed the unfinished work of the morning.

No need now for the subtleties of the sharpening stone--all was known.

He might as well use the knife in the quickest possible way, and end it all speedily.

His old cowardice came over him. He loathed himself for it, stamped his foot and strove to attain the courage needed to draw that sharp surgeon's knife under his chin.

He knew its edge was razor-like, that one strong, firm draw and all would be over. But he lacked the nerve.

He almost laughed when he remembered that he had heard it said that a suicide is a coward--he imagined that it required more courage to take one's own life than another's.

He looked at the clock; he had fooled away five minutes. That braced him up--he must avoid the hangman's attention at any cost.

It was not the loss of his life which had deterred him so much as the method of losing it.

Then an idea occurred to him. He had the gas apparatus, why not--no sooner thought than he started to put the idea into execution.

He had a little bench whereat he worked in and about the repairing and making of false teeth.

At each end were small vises. He fastened the surgeon's long knife into it after the manner of a man who would sharpen a saw.

It was firm and rigid.

The gas apparatus he put on the bench itself, and leaned over to it, his neck almost touching the knife.