The Herapath Property Part 36

"What price?" he asked.

"Their price is ten thousand pounds--cash," answered Mrs. Engledew, with a little shrug of her shoulders. "Seems a great deal, doesn't it? But that is their price. They will not be moved from it. If Miss Wynne will agree to pay that sum, they will at once not only give their evidence as to the real murderer of Jacob Herapath, but they will point him out."

"When?" demanded Selwood.

"Tonight!" replied Mrs. Engledew. "Tonight--at an hour to be fixed after your agreement to their terms."

Selwood felt himself in a difficult position. Mr. Tertius was out of town for the day, gone to visit an antiquarian friend in Berkshire: Mr.

Halfpenny lived away down amongst the Surrey hills. Still, there was c.o.x-Raythwaite to turn to. But it seemed as if the lady desired an immediate answer.

"You know these men?" he asked.

"One only, who represents both," answered Mrs. Engledew.

"Why not point him out to the police, and let them deal with them?"

suggested Selwood. "They would get his evidence out of him without any question of price!"

"I have given my word," said Mrs. Engledew. "I--the fact is, I am mixed up in this, quite innocently, of course. And I am sure that no living person knows the truth except these men, and just as sure that they will not tell what they know unless they are paid. The police could not make them speak if they didn't want to speak. They know very well that they have got the whip-hand of all of us in that respect!"

"Of you, too?" asked Selwood.

"Of me, too!" she answered. "n.o.body in the world, I'm sure, knows the secret but these men. And it's important to me personally that they should reveal it. In fact, though I'm not rich, I'll join Miss Wynne in paying their price, so far as a thousand pounds is concerned. I would pay more, but I really haven't got the money--I daren't go beyond a thousand."

Selwood felt himself impressed by this candid offer.

"Precisely what do they ask--what do they propose?" he asked.

"This. If you agree to pay them ten thousand pounds, you and Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite are to meet them tonight. They will then tell the true story, and they will further take you and the police to the man, the real murderer," answered Mrs. Engledew. "It is important that all this should be done tonight."

"Where is this meeting to take place?" demanded Selwood.

"It can take place at my flat: in fact, it must, because, as I say, I am unfortunately mixed up," said Mrs. Engledew. "If you agree to the terms, you are to telephone to me--I have written my number on the card--at two o'clock this afternoon. Then I shall telephone the time of meeting tonight, and you must bring the money with you."

"Ten thousand pounds in cash--on Sunday!" exclaimed Selwood. "That, of course, is utterly impossible."

"Not cash in that sense," replied Mrs. Engledew. "An open cheque will do. And, don't you see, that, I think, proves the _bona fides_ of the men. If they fail to do what they say they can and will do, you can stop payment of that cheque first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yes, that's so," agreed Selwood. He glanced at Peggie, who was silently listening with deep interest. "I don't know how things stand,"

he went on. "Mr. Halfpenny, Miss Wynne's solicitor, lives a long way out of town. Miss Wynne would doubtless cheerfully sacrifice ten thousand pounds to save her cousin----"

"Oh, twenty thousand--anything!" exclaimed Peggie. "Don't let us hesitate about money, please."

"But I don't know whether she can draw a cheque," continued Selwood. "At least, for such an amount as that. Perhaps Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite can tell us. Let me ask you a question or two, if you please, Mrs.

Engledew," he went on. "You say you only know one of these men. Do you know his name?"

"No--I don't," confessed Mrs. Engledew. "Everything is secret and mysterious."

"Are you convinced--has he done anything to convince you--of his good faith?"

"Yes--absolutely!"

"You don't doubt his--their--ability to clear all this up?"

"I'm quite sure they can clear it up."

"Have you any idea as to the ident.i.ty of the real murderer?"

"Not the least!"

"One more question, then," concluded Selwood. "Are the police to be there when c.o.x-Raythwaite and I come tonight?"

"That I don't know," replied Mrs. Engledew. "All I know is--just what I am ordered to say. Pay them the money--they will tell the truth and take you and the police to the real criminal. One more thing--it is understood that you will not approach the police between now and this evening. That part--the police part--is to be left to them."

"I understand," said Selwood. "Very well--we will get out, if you please, and we will go straight to Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite. At two o'clock I shall ring you up and give you our answer."

He hurried Peggie into a taxi-cab as soon as Mrs. Engledew's car had gone away, and they went hastily to Endsleigh Gardens, where Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite listened to the strange story in dead silence.

"Mrs. Engledew--lady living in Herapath Flats--old friend of Jacob's--possessed letters of his--instrument for two men in possession of secret--willing to fork out a thousand of her own," he muttered. "Gad!--I take that to be genuine, Selwood! The only question is for Peggie here--does she wish to throw away nine thousand to save Barthorpe's neck?"

"The only question, Professor," said Peggie, reprovingly, "is--can I do it? Can I draw a cheque for that amount?"

"Why not?" replied the Professor. "Everything's in order. Barthorpe withdrew that wretched caveat--the will's been proved--every penny that Jacob possessed is yours. Draw a cheque for fifty thousand, if you like!"

"And you will go with Mr. Selwood?" asked Peggie, with a touch of anxiety which was not lost on the Professor.

"Go with him--and take care of him, too," answered the Professor, digging his big fingers into Selwood's ribs. "Very good. Now stop here and lunch with me, and at two o'clock we'll telephone."

He and Peggie stood breathlessly waiting in the hall that afternoon while Selwood was busy at the telephone in an adjacent lobby. Selwood came back to them nodding his head.

"All right!" he said. "You and I, Professor, at her flat--tonight, at nine o'clock."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

THE INTERRUPTED DINNER-PARTY

Triffitt's recent inquiries in connection with the Herapath affair had been all very well from a strictly professional point of view, but not so well from another. For nearly twelve months he had been engaged to a sweet girl, of whom he was very fond, and who thoroughly reciprocated his affection; up to the time of the Herapath murder he had contrived to spend a certain portion of each day with her, and to her he had invariably devoted the whole of his Sundays. In this love affair he was joined by his friend, to whom Triffitt's young lady had introduced her great friend, with whom Carver had promptly become infatuated. These ladies, both very young and undeniably charming, spent the greater part of the working week at the School of Needlework, in South Kensington, where they fashioned various beautiful objects with busy needles; Sundays they gave up to their swains, and every Sunday ended with a little dinner of four at some cheap restaurant whereat you could get quite a number of courses at the fixed price of half a crown or so and drink light wine which was very little dearer than pale ale. All parties concerned looked forward throughout the week to these joyful occasions; the girls wore their best frocks, and the young men came out bravely in the matter of neckties; there was laughter and gaiety and a general escape from the prosaic matters which obtained from Monday to Sat.u.r.day--consequently, Triffitt felt it a serious thing that attention to this Herapath business had come to interfere with his love-making and his Sunday feast of mirth and gladness. More than once he had been obliged to let Carver go alone to the usual rendezvous; he himself had been running hither and thither after chances of news which never materialized, while his sweetheart played gooseberry to the more favoured people. And as he was very much in love, Triffitt had often been tempted to throw his clues and his theories to the winds, and to vow himself to the service of Venus rather than to that of Mercury.

But on that Sunday which saw the white-haired lady interviewing Peggie Wynne and Selwood, Triffitt, to his great delight, found that newspaper requirements were not going to interfere with him. The hue-and-cry after the missing Burchill was dying down--the police (so Davidge told Triffitt in strict confidence) were of the firm opinion that Burchill had escaped to the continent--probably within a few hours of the moment wherein he made his unceremonious exit from Mr. Halfpenny's office. Even Markledew was not so keen about the Herapath affair as he had been. His policy was--a new day, a new affair. The Herapath mystery was becoming a little stale--it would get staler unless a fresh and startling development took place. As it was, nothing was likely to arise which would t.i.tillate the public until Barthorpe Herapath, now safely lodged in the remand prison, was brought to trial, or unless Burchill was arrested. Consequently, Triffitt was not expected to make up a half or a whole column of recent and sensational Herapath news every morning. And so he gladly took this Sunday for a return to the primrose paths. He and Carver met their sweethearts; they took them to the Albert Hall Sunday afternoon concert--nothing better offering in the middle of winter--they went to tea at the sweethearts' lodgings; later in the evening they carried them off to the accustomed Sunday dinner.

Triffitt and Carver had become thoroughly seasoned men of the world in the matter of finding out good places whereat to dine well and cheaply.

They knew all the Soho restaurants. They had sampled several in Oxford Street and in Tottenham Court Road. But by sheer luck they had found one--an Italian restaurant--in South Kensington which was, in their opinion, superior to all of their acquaintance. This establishment had many advantages for lovers. To begin with, it bore a poetical name--the Cafe Venezia--Triffitt, who frequently read Byron and Sh.e.l.ley to his adored one, said it made one think of moonlight and gondolas, and similar adjuncts to what he called _parfaite amour_. Then it was divided off into little cabinets, just holding four people--that was an advantage when you were sure of your company. And for the _prix fixe_ of two shillings they gave you quite a good dinner; also their Chianti was of exceptional quality, and according to the proprietor, it came straight from Siena.

On this Sunday evening, then, Triffitt on one side of a table with his lady-love, Carver on the other with his, made merry, with no thought of anything but the joys of the moment. They had arrived at the last stages of the feast; the heroes puffed cigarettes and sipped Benedictine; the heroines daintily drank their sweetened coffee. They all chattered gaily, out of the fulness of their youthful hearts; not one of them had any idea that anything was going to happen. And in the midst of their lightsomeness, Triffitt, who faced a mirror, started, dropped his cigarette, upset his liqueur gla.s.s and turned pale. For an instant he clutched the tablecloth, staring straight in front of him; then with a great effort he controlled his emotion and with a cautious hissing of his breath, gazed warningly at Carver.

"'Sh!" whispered Triffitt. "Not a word! And don't move--don't show a sign, any of you. Carver--turn your head very slowly and look behind you. At the bar!"