The Herapath Property Part 24

Triffitt bent over the plan. But he was not looking at the shaded portion over which the clerk's pencil was straying; instead he was regarding the fact that across the corresponding portion of the plan was written in red ink the words, "Mr. Frank Burchill." The third portion was blank; it, apparently, was unlet.

"That is really about the size of flat I want," said Triffitt, musingly.

"What's the rent of that, now?"

"I can let that to you for fifty shillings a week," answered the clerk.

"That includes everything--there's plate, linen, gla.s.s, china, anything you want. Slight attendance can be arranged for with our caretaker's wife--that is, she can cook breakfast, and make beds, and do more, if necessary. Perhaps you would like to see this flat?"

Triffitt followed the clerk to the top of the house. The absent Mr.

Stillwater's rooms were comfortable and pleasant; one glance around them decided Triffitt.

"This place will suit me very well," he said. "Now I'll give you satisfactory references about myself, and pay you a month's rent in advance, and if that's all right to you, I'll come in today. You can ring up my references on your 'phone, and then, if you're satisfied, we'll settle the rent, and I'll see the caretaker's wife about airing that bed."

Within half an hour Triffitt was occupant of the flat, the cashier of the _Argus_ having duly telephoned that he was a thoroughly dependable and much-respected member of its staff, and Triffitt himself having handed over ten pounds as rent for the coming month, he interviewed the caretaker's wife, went to a neighbouring grocer's shop and ordered a stock of necessaries wherewith to fill his larder, repaired to his own lodgings and brought away all that he wanted in the way of luggage, books, and papers, and by the middle of the afternoon was fairly settled in his new quarters. He spent an hour in putting himself and his belongings straight--and then came the question what next?

He was there for a special purpose--that special purpose was to acquaint himself as thoroughly as possible with the doings of Frank Burchill. Burchill was there--he was almost on the point of saying, in the next cell!--there, in the flat across the corridor; figuratively, within touch, if it were not for sundry divisions of brick, mortar, and the like. Burchill's door was precisely opposite his own; there was an advantage in that fact. And in Triffitt's outer door (all these flats, he discovered--that is, if they were all like his own, possessed double doors) there was a convenient letter slit, by manipulating which he could, if he chose, keep a perpetual observation on the other opposite.

But Triffitt did not propose to sit with his eye glued to that letter slit all day--it might be useful at times, and for some special purpose, but he had wider views. And the first thing to do was to make an examination, geographical and exhaustive, of his own surroundings: Triffitt had learnt, during his journalistic training, that attention to details is one of the most important things in life.

The first thing that had struck Triffitt in this respect was that there was no lift in this building. He had remarked on that to the clerk, and the clerk had answered with a shrug of the shoulders that it was a mistake and one for which the proprietor was already having to pay.

However, Triffitt, bearing in mind what job he was on, was not displeased that the lift had been omitted--it is sometimes an advantage to be able to hang over the top rail of a staircase and watch people coming up from below. He stored that fact in his mental reservoirs. And now that he had got into his rooms, he proceeded to seek for more facts. First, as to the rooms themselves--he wanted to know all about them, because he had carefully noticed, while looking at the plan of that floor in the office downstairs, that Burchill's flat was arranged exactly like his own. And Triffitt's flat was like this--you entered through a double door into a good-sized sitting-room, out of which two other rooms led--one went into a small kitchen and pantry; the other into the bedroom, at the side of which was a little bathroom. The windows of the bedroom opened on to a view of the street below; those of the sitting-room on to a square of garden, on the lawn of which tenants might disport themselves, more or less sadly, with tennis or croquet in summer.

Triffitt looked out of his sitting-room windows last of all. He then perceived with great joy that in front of them was a balcony, and that this balcony stretched across the entire front of the house. There were, in fact, balconies to all five floors--the notion being, of course, that occupants could whenever they pleased sit out there in such sunlight as struggled between their own roof and the tall buildings opposite. It immediately occurred to Triffitt that here was an easy way of making a call upon your next door neighbour; instead of crossing the corridor and knocking at his door, you had nothing to do but walk along the balcony and tap at his window. Filled with this thought Triffitt immediately stepped out on his balcony and inspected the windows of his own and the next flat. He immediately saw something which filled him with a great idea. Both windows were fitted with patent ventilators, let into the top panes. Now, supposing one of these ventilators was fully open, and two people were talking within the room in even the ordinary tones of conversation--would it not be possible for an eavesdropper outside to hear a good deal, if not everything, of what was said? The idea was worth thinking over, anyway, and Triffitt retired indoors to ruminate over it and over much else.

For two or three days nothing happened. Twice Triffitt met Burchill on the stairs--Burchill, of course, did not know him from Adam, and gave him no more than the mere glance he would have thrown at any other ordinary young man. Triffitt, however, gave Burchill more than a pa.s.sing look--un.o.btrusively. Certainly he was the man whom he had seen in the dock nine years before in that far-off Scottish town--there was little appreciable alteration in his appearance, except that he was now very smartly dressed. There were peculiarities about the fellow, said Triffitt, which you couldn't forget--certainly, Frank Burchill was Francis Bentham.

But on the third day, two things happened--one connected directly with Triffitt's new venture, the other not. The first was that as Triffitt was going down the stairs that afternoon, on his way to the office, at which he kept looking in now and then, although he was relieved from regular attendance and duty, he met Barthorpe Herapath coming up.

Triffitt thanked his lucky stars that the staircase was badly lighted, and that this was an unusually gloomy November day. True, Barthorpe had only once seen him, that he knew of--that morning at the estate office, when he, Triffitt, had asked Selwood for information--but then, some men have sharp memories for faces, and Barthorpe might recognize him and wonder what an _Argus_ man was doing there in Calengrove Mansions. So Triffitt quickly pulled the flap of the Trilby hat about his nose, and sank his chin lower into the turned-up collar of his overcoat, and hurried past the tall figure. And Barthorpe on his part never looked at the reporter--or if he did, took no more heed of him than of the bal.u.s.trade at his side.

"That's one thing established, anyway!" mused Triffitt as he went his way. "Barthorpe Herapath is in touch with Burchill. The dead man's nephew and the dead man's ex-secretary--um! Putting their heads together--about what?"

He was still pondering this question when he reached the office and found a note from Carver who wanted to see him at once. Triffitt went round to the _Magnet_ and got speech with Carver in a quiet corner.

Carver went straight to his point.

"I've got him," he said, eyeing his fellow-conspirator triumphantly.

"Got--who?" demanded Triffitt.

"That taxi-cab chap--you know who I mean," answered Carver. "Ran him down at noon today."

"No!" exclaimed Triffitt. "Gad! Are you sure, though?--is it certain he's the man you were after?"

"He's the chap who drove a gentleman from near Portman Square to just by St. Mary Abbot church at two o'clock on the morning of the Herapath murder," replied Carver. "That's a dead certainty! I risked five pounds on it, anyway, for which I'll trouble you. I went on the lines of rounding up all the cabbies I could find who were as a rule on night duty round about that quarter, and bit by bit I got on to this fellow, and, as I say, I gave him a fiver for just telling me a mere bit. And it's here--he's already given some information to that old Mr.

Tertius--you know--and Tertius commanded him to keep absolutely quiet until the moment came for a move. Well, that moment has not come yet, evidently--the chap hasn't been called on since, anyhow--and when I mentioned money he began to p.r.i.c.k his ears. He's willing to tell--for money--if we keep dark what he tells us. The truth is, he's out to get what he can out of anybody. If you make it worth his while, he'll tell."

"Aye!" said Triffitt. "But the question is, what has he got to tell?

What does he know?--actually know?"

"He knows," replied Carver, "he actually knows who the man was that he drove that morning! He didn't know who he was when he first gave information to Tertius, but he knows now, and, as I say, he's willing to sell his knowledge--in private."

CHAPTER XX

THE DIAMOND RING

Triffitt considered Carver's report during a moment of mutual silence.

If he had consulted his own personal inclination he would have demanded to be led straight to the taxi-cab driver. But Triffitt knew himself to be the expender of the Markledew money, and the knowledge made him unduly cautious.

"It comes to this," he said at last, "this chap knows something which he's already told to this Mr. Tertius. Mr. Tertius has in all probability already told it to the people at New Scotland Yard. They, of course, will use the information at their own time and in their own way. But what we want is something new--something startling--something good!"

"I tell you the fellow's got all that," said Carver. "He knows the man whom he drove that morning. Isn't that good enough?"

"Depend upon how I can bring it out," answered Triffitt. "Well, when can I see this chap?"

"Tonight--seven o'clock," replied Carver. "I fixed that, in antic.i.p.ation."

"And--where?" demanded Triffitt.

"I'll go with you--it's to be at a pub near Orchard Street," said Carver. "Better bring money with you--he'll want cash."

"All right," agreed Triffitt. "But I'm not going to throw coin about recklessly. I shall want value."

Carver laughed. Triffitt's sudden caution amused him.

"I reckon people have to buy pigs in pokes in dealing with this sort of thing, Triff," he said. "But whether the chap's information's good for much or not, I'm certain it's genuine. Well, come round here again at six-thirty."

Triffitt, banknotes in pocket, went round again at six-thirty, and was duly conducted Oxford Street way by Carver, who eventually led him into a network of small streets, in which the mews and the stable appeared to be conspicuous features, and to the bar-parlour of a somewhat dingy tavern, at that hour little frequented. And at precisely seven o'clock the door of the parlour opened and a face showed itself, recognized Carver, and grinned. Carver beckoned the face into a corner, and having formally introduced his friend Triffitt, suggested liquid refreshment.

The face a.s.sented cordially, and having obscured itself for a moment behind a pint pot, heaved a sigh of gratification, and seemed desirous of entering upon business.

"But it ain't, of course, to go no further--at present," said the owner of the face. "Not into no newspapers nor nothing, _at_ present. I don't mind telling you young gents, if it's made worth my while, of course, but as things is, I don't want the old gent in Portman Square to know as how I've let on--d'ye see? Of course, I ain't seen nothing of him never since I called there, and he gave me a couple o' quid, and told me to expect more--only the more's a long time o' coming, and if I do see my way to turning a honest penny by what I knows, why, then, d'ye see----"

"I see, very well," a.s.sented Triffitt. "And what might your idea of an honest penny be, now?"

The taxi-cab driver silently regarded his questioner. He had already had a five-pound note out of Carver, who carried a small fund about him in case of emergency; he was speculating on his chances of materially increasing this, and his eyes grew greedy.

"Well, now, guv'nor, what's your own notion of that?" he asked at last.

"I'm a poor chap, you know, and I don't often get a chance o' making a bit in this way. What's it worth--what I can tell, you know--to you?

This here young gentleman was keen enough about it this afternoon, guv'nor."

"Depends," answered Triffitt. "You'd better answer a question or two.

First--you haven't told the old gentleman in Portman Square--Mr.

Tertius--any more than what you told my friend here you'd told him?"

"Not a word more, guv'nor! 'Cause why--I ain't seen him since."

"And you've told nothing to the police?"

"The police ain't never come a-nigh me, and I ain't been near them. What the old chap said was--wait! And I've waited and ain't heard nothing."