Okewood of the Secret Service Part 8

Marigold admitted and that the detective knew it. Had Mr.

Marigold discovered that the Chief knew a great deal more about this mysterious affair than the detective knew himself? And was not his att.i.tude of having already solved the problem of the murder, his treatment of the Chief as a dilettante criminologist simply an elaborate pose, to extract from the Chief information which had not been proffered?

The Chief glanced at his watch.

"Right," he said, "I think I'd like to go along."

"I have a good deal to do here still," observed Mr. Marigold, "so, if you don't mind, I won't accompany you. But perhaps, sir, you would like to see me this afternoon?"

The Chief swung round on his heel and fairly searched Mr.

Marigold with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. The detective returned his gaze with an expression of supreme innocence.

"Why, Marigold," answered the Chief, "I believe I should. Six o'clock suit you?"

"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Marigold.

Desmond stood by the door, vastly amused by this duel of wits.

The Chief and Mr. Marigold made a move towards the door, Desmond turned to open it and came face to face with a large framed photograph of the Chief hanging on the wall of Miss Mackwayte's bedroom.

"Why, Chief," he cried, "you never told me you knew Miss Mackwayte!"

The Chief professed to be very taken aback by this question.

"Dear me, didn't I, Okewood?" he answered with eyes laughing, "she's my secretary!"

CHAPTER VI. "NAME O'BARNEY"

"Miss Mackwayte telephoned to ask if I could go and see, her,"

said the Chief to Desmond as they motored back to White hall, "Marigold gave me the message just as we were coming out. She asked if I could come this afternoon. I'm going to send you in my place, Okewood. I've got a conference with the head of the French Intelligence at three, and the Lord knows when I shall get away.

I've a notion that you and Miss Mackwayte will work very well together."

"Certainly," said Desmond, "she struck me as being a very charming and clever girl. Now I know the source of your information about my movements last night!"

"That you certainly don't!" answered the Chief promptly, "if I thought you did Duff and No.39 should be sacked on the spot!"

"Then it wasn't Miss Mackwayte who told you?"

"I haven't seen or heard from Miss Mackwayte since she left my office yesterday evening. You were followed!"

"But why?"

"I'll tell you all about it at, lunch!"

Bated once more, Desmond retired into his sh.e.l.l. By this he was convinced of the utter impossibility of making the Chief vouchsafe any information except voluntarily.

Mr. Marigold had evidently announced their coming to Scotland Yard, for a very urbane and delightful official met them at the entrance and conducted them to a room where the prisoner was already awaiting them in charge of a plain clothes man. There the official excused himself and retired, leaving them alone with the prisoner and his escort.

Barney proved to be a squat, podgy, middle-aged Jew of the familiar East End Polish or Russian type. He had little black beady eyes, a round fat white face, and a broad squabby Mongol nose. His clothes were exceedingly seedy, and the police had confiscated his collar and tie. This absence of neckwear, coupled with the fact that the lower part of his face was sprouting with a heavy growth of beard, gave him a peculiarly villainous appearance:

He was seated on a chair, his head sunk on his breast. His eyes were hollow, and his face overspread with a horrible sickly greenish pallor, the hue of the last stage of fear. His hands, resting on his knees, twisted and fiddled continually. Every now and then convulsive shudders shook him. The man was quite obviously on the verge of a collapse.

As the Chief and Desmond advanced into the room, the Jew looked up in panic. Then he sprang to his feet with a scream and flung himself on his knees, crying:

"Ah, no! Don't take me away! I ain't done no 'arm, gentlemen!

S'welp me, gentlemen, I ain't a murderer! I swear..."

"Get him up!" said the Chief in disgust, "and, look here, can't you give him a drink? I want to speak to him. He's not fit to talk rationally in this state!"

The detective pushed a bell in the wall, a policeman answered it, and presently the prisoner was handed a stiff gla.s.s of whiskey and water.

After Barney had swallowed it, the Chief said:

"Now, look here, my man, I want you to tell me exactly what happened last night. No fairy tales, remember! I know what you told the police, and if I catch you spinning me any yarns on to it, well, it'll only be the worse for you. I don't mind telling you, you're in a pretty bad mess!"

The prisoner put down the gla.s.s wearily and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Though the room was bitterly cold, the perspiration stood out in beads on his brow.

"I have told the trewth, sir," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "and it goes against me, don't it? Hafen't I not gif myself op to the policeman? Couldn't I not haf drop the svag and ron away? For sure! And vy didn't I not do it? For vy, because of vot I seen in that house. I've 'ad my bit of trobble mit the police and vy should I tell them how I vos op to a game last night if I vas not a-telling the trewth, eh! I've been on the crook, gentlemen, I say it, ja, but I ain't no murderer, G.o.d choke me I ain't!

"I've earned gut monney in my time on the 'alls but life is very 'ardt, and I've been alvays hongry these days. Yesterday I meet old Mac wot I used to meet about the 'alls I vos workin' along o'

my boss... at the agent's it vos were I vos lookin' for a shop!

The perfesh always makes a splash about its salaries, gentlemen, and Mac 'e vos telling me vot a lot o' monney he make on the Samuel Circuit and 'ow 'e 'ad it at home all ready to put into var savings certif'kits. I never done a job like this von before, gentlemen, but I vos hardt pushed for money, s'welp me I vos!

"I left it till late last night because of these air raids... I vanted to be sure that ole Mac and 'is daughter should be asleep.

I G.o.d in from the back of the louse, oi, oi, bot it vos dead easy! through the scollery vindow. I cleared op a bagful of stuff in the dining-room... there vosn't, anything vorth s.n.a.t.c.hing outer the parlor... and sixty-five quid out of an old cigar-box in the desk. The police 'as got it... I give it all back! I say I haf stolen, but murder? No!" He paused.

"Go on," said the Chief.

The prisoner looked about him in a frightened way.

"I vos jus' thinking I had better be getting avay, he continued in his hoa.r.s.e, gutteral voice, 'ven snick.!... I hears a key in the front door. I vos, standing by the staircase... I had no time to get out by the vay I had kom so I vent opstairs to the landing vere there vos a curtain. I shlip behind the curtain and vait! I dare not look out but I listen, I listen.. I hear some one go into the dining-room and move about. I open the curtain a little way... so!... because I think I vill shlip downstairs vile the other party is in the dining-room... and there I sees ole Mac in his dressing-gown just coming down from the first floor. The same moment I hear a step in the front hall.

"I see ole Mac start but he does not stop. He kom right downstairs, and I step back behind the curtain ontil I find a door vich I push. I dare not svitch on my light but presently I feel the cold edge of a bath with my hands. I stay there and vait. Oi, oi, oi, how shall you belief vot I tell?"

He broke off trembling.

"Go on, Barney," said the detective, "can't you see the gentlemen are waiting?"

The Jew resumed, his voice sinking almost to a whisper.

"It vos quite dark behind the curtain but from the bathroom, through the open door, I could just see ole Mac standing with his back to me, a-holding the curtain. He must haf shlip in there to watch the other who vos komming opstairs. Then... then... I hear a step on the stair... a little, soft step... then ole Mac he open the curtain and cry 'Who are you?' Bang! the... the... other on the stairs he fire a shot. I see the red flash and I smell the... the powder not? The other, he does not vait... he just go on opstairs and ole Mac is lying there on his back with the blood a-trickling out on the oil-cloth. And I, vith my bag on my back, I creep downstair and out by the back again, and I ron and ron and then I valks. Gott! how I haf walked! I vos so frightened!

And then, at last, I go to a policeman and gif 'myself op!"

Barney stopped. The tears burst from his eyes and laying his grimy face on his arm, he sobbed.

The detective patted him on the back.

"Pull yourself together, man!" he said encouragingly.

"This man on the stairs," queried the Chief, "did you see him?"