The Complete Four Just Men (106 page)

‘Major Rutland knows nothing about my coming here – he would be horrified if he knew I had taken this risk,’ she began.

She told him, haltingly at first, how her older brother had been killed in Africa during the War.

‘That’s how I come to know Jack,’ she said. ‘He was in the desert, too. He wrote to me two years ago from Paris – said he had some papers belonging to poor Frank. He had taken them from his – from his body, after he was killed. Naturally, Daddy asked him to come over, and we became good friends, although Daddy isn’t very keen on – our marriage.’

She was silent for a little while, and then went on quickly.

‘Father doesn’t like the marriage at all, and really the fact that we are getting married is a secret. You see, Mr Gonsalez, I am a comparatively rich woman: my mother left me a large sum of money. And John will be rich, too. During the War, when he was a prisoner, he located a big gold mine in Syria, and that is what the inscription is all about. John saved the life of an Arab, and in his gratitude he revealed to him where the mine was located, and had it all inscribed on a little gold tablet, in Arabic. John lost it at the end of the War, and he’d heard nothing more of it until he read in the
Evening Herald
about your discovery. Poor John was naturally terribly upset at the thought that he might be forestalled by somebody who could decipher the tablet, so I suggested he should call and see you and ask for the bracelet back; but he wouldn’t hear of this. Instead, he’s been getting more and more worried and upset and nervous, and at last I thought of this mad scheme. Jack has quite a number of acquaintances amongst the criminal classes – being a police officer he very naturally can deal with them; and he’s done a lot to help them to keep straight. This man who came tonight was one of them. It was I who saw him, and suggested this idea of getting into the house and taking the bracelet. We knew that you kept it under your bed – ’

‘Are you sure it was you and not Major John Rutland who thought out this burglary?’

Again she hesitated.

‘I think he did in fun suggest that the house should be burgled.’

‘And that you should do the burgling?’ asked Leon blandly.

She avoided his eyes.

‘In fun . . . yes. He said nobody would hurt me, and I could always pretend it was a practical joke. It was very stupid, I know, Mr Gonsalez; if my father knew . . . ’

‘Exactly,’ said Leon brusquely. ‘You needn’t tell me any more – about the burglary. How much money have you at the bank?’

She looked at him in surprise.

‘Nearly forty thousand pounds,’ she said. ‘I’ve sold a lot of securities lately – they were not very productive – ’

Leon smiled.

‘And you’ve heard of a better investment?’

She was quick to see what he meant.

‘You’re altogether wrong, Mr Gonsalez,’ she said coldly. ‘John is only allowing me to put a thousand pounds into his exploration syndicate – he isn’t quite sure whether it is a thousand or eight hundred he will require. He won’t let me invest a penny more. He’s going to Paris tomorrow night, to start these people on their way; and then he is coming back, and we are to be married and follow them.’

Leon looked at her thoughtfully.

‘Tomorrow night – do you mean tonight?’

She glanced quickly at the clock, and laughed.

‘Of course, tonight.’

Then she leaned across the table and spoke earnestly.

‘Mr Gonsalez, I’ve heard so much about you and your friends, and I’m sure you wouldn’t betray our secret. If I’d any sense I should have come to you yesterday and asked you for the tablet – I would even pay a good sum to relieve John’s anxiety. Is it too late now?’

Leon nodded.

‘Much too late. I am keeping that as a memento. The enterprising gentleman who wrote the paragraph told you that it is part of my story collection – and I never part with stories. By the way, when do you give your cheque?’

Her lips twitched at this.

‘You still think John is a wicked swindler? I gave him the cheque yesterday.’

‘A thousand or eight hundred?’

‘That is for him to decide,’ she said.

Leon nodded, and rose.

‘I will not trouble you any further. Burglary, Miss Martin, is evidently not your speciality, and I should advise you to avoid that profession in the future.’

‘You’re not giving me in charge?’ she smiled.

‘Not yet,’ said Leon.

He opened the door for her, and stood in his dressing-gown, watching her. He saw her cross the road to the taxi rank, and take the last vehicle available. Then he bolted the door and went back to bed.

His alarm clock called him at seven, and he arose cheerfully, having before him work which was after his own heart. In the morning he called at a tourist agency and bought a ticket to Paris – it seemed a waste of time to go to the office of the High Commissioner
for South Africa and examine the available records of the Cape Police; but he was a conscientious man. The afternoon he spent idling near the Northern and Southern Bank in Threadneedle Street
, and at a quarter to three his vigil was rewarded, for he saw Major John Rutland descend from a cab, go into the bank, and emerge a few minutes before the big doors closed. The Major looked very pleased with himself – a handsome fellow, rather slim, with a short-cropped military moustache.

Manfred came back in the afternoon, but Leon told him nothing of the burglary. After dinner he went up to his own room, took from a drawer an automatic, laid a few spots of oil in the sliding jacket, and loaded it carefully. From a small box he took a silencer, which he fixed to the muzzle. He put the apparatus into his overcoat pocket, found his suitcase, and came downstairs. George was standing in the hallway.

‘Going out, Leon?’

‘I shall be away a couple of days,’ said Leon, and Manfred, who never asked questions, opened the door for him.

Leon was hunched up in a corner of a first-class carriage when he saw Major Rutland and the girl pass. Behind them, an unwanted third, was a tall, thin-faced man with grey hair, obviously the surgeon. Leon saw them from the corner of his eye, and as the train pulled out had another glimpse of the girl waving her hand to her departing lover.

It was a dark, gusty night; the weather conditions chalked on a board at the railway station promised an unpleasant crossing, and when he stepped on to the boat at midnight he found it rolling uneasily, even in the comparatively calm waters of the harbour.

He made a quick scrutiny of the purser’s list. Major Rutland had taken a cabin and this, after the boat began to move out of harbour, he located. It was the aft cabin de luxe, not a beautiful apartment, for the ship was an old one.

He waited till the assistant purser came along to collect his ticket, and then: ‘I’m afraid I’ve lost my ticket,’ he said, and paid.

His ticket from Dover to Calais was in his pocket, but Major Rutland had not taken the Calais but the Ostend boat. He watched the assistant purser go into the cabin de luxe, and peered through the window. The Major was lying on a sofa, his cap pulled down over his eyes.

After the assistant purser had taken his ticket and departed, Leon waited for another half-hour; then he saw the cabin go dark. He wandered round the ship: the last light of England showed glitteringly on the south-western horizon. There were no passengers on deck: the few that the ship carried had gone below, for she was tossing and rolling diabolically. Another quarter of an hour passed, and then Leon turned the handle of the stateroom door, stepped into the cabin and sent the light of his small torch round the room. Evidently the Major was travelling without a great deal of luggage: there were two small suitcases and nothing more.

These Leon took out on to the deck and, walking to the rail, dropped them into the water. The man’s hat went the same way. He put the torch back into his pocket and, returning for the second time to the cabin, gently shook the sleeper.

‘I want to speak to you, Konnor,’ he said, in a voice little above a whisper.

The man was instantly awake. ‘Who are you?’

‘Come outside: I want to talk to you.’

‘Major Rutland’ followed on to the dim deck.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

The aft of the ship was reserved for second-class passengers, and this, too, was deserted. They made their way to the rail above the stern. They were in complete darkness.

‘You know who I am?’

‘Haven’t the slightest idea,’ was the cool reply.

‘My name is Gonsalez. Yours, of course, is Eugene Konnor – or Bergstoft,’ said Leon. ‘You were at one time an officer in the – ’ He mentioned the regiment. ‘In the desert you went over to the enemy by arrangements made through an agency in Cairo. You were reported killed, but in reality you were employed by the enemy as a spy. You were responsible for the disaster at El Masjid – don’t try to draw that gun or your life will be shorter.’

‘Well,’ said the man, a little breathlessly, ‘what do you want?’

‘I want first of all the money you drew from the bank this afternoon. I’ve an idea that Miss Martin gave you a blank cheque, and I’ve a stronger idea that you filled that almost to the limit of her balance, as she will discover tomorrow morning.’

‘A hold-up, eh?’ Konnor laughed harshly.

‘That money, and quick!’ said Leon, between his teeth.

Konnor felt the point of the gun against his stomach, and obeyed. Leon took the thick pad of notes from the man, and slipped it into his pocket.

‘I suppose you realize, Mr Leon Gonsalez, that you’re going to get into very serious trouble?’ began Konnor. ‘I thought you’d probably decipher the pass – ’

‘I deciphered the pass without any trouble at all, if you’re referring to the gold tablet,’ said Leon. ‘It said that “the Englishman Konnor is permitted to enter our lines at any moment of the day or night and is to be afforded every assistance,” and it was signed by the Commander of the Third Army. Yes, I know all about that.’

‘When I get back to England – ’ began the man.

‘You’ve no intention of going back to England. You’re married. You were married in Dublin – and that was probably not your first bigamy. How much money is there here?’

‘Thirty or forty thousand – you needn’t think that Miss Martin will prosecute me.’

‘Nobody is going to prosecute you,’ said Leon, in a low voice.

He took one quick glance around: the decks were empty.

‘You’re a traitor to your country – if you have a country; a man who has sent thousands of the men who were his comrades to their death. That is all.’

There was a flash of fire from his hand, a guttural ‘plop!’ Konnor’s knees went under him, but before he reached the ground Leon Gonsalez caught him under the arms, threw the pistol into the water, lifted the man without an effort and heaved him into the dark sea . . .

When Ostend harbour came into sight, and the steward went to collect Major Rutland’s luggage, he found it had gone, and with it the owner. Passengers are very often mean, and carry their own luggage on to the deck in order to save porterage. The steward shrugged his shoulders and thought no more of the matter.

As for Leon Gonsalez, he stayed in Brussels one day, posted without comment the £34,000 in notes to Miss Lois Martin, caught the train to Calais and was back in London that night. Manfred glanced up as his friend strode into the dining-room.

‘Had a good time, Leon?’ he asked.

‘Most interesting,’ said Leon.

THE END