“What do you mean?” said Freddy Pelham.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Unless we can get back those two statements which you got Margaret to sign, I can’t put Greta under police protection. You heard her story about being followed by a strange car. I believe she was within an ace of being carried off then, just as I believe she was within an ace of slipping to her death under the bus last night. You know she was pushed. Do you know who pushed her?”
Freddy stiffened; everything about him seemed to go rigid. The effect was one of extreme terror, of a creature in a trap with every muscle tense-waiting.
Charles looked at him with something like horror.
“Freddy! For heaven’s sake, don’t say you knew!”
Freddy shook his head. The tension relaxed. He said faintly,
“It was a shock”; and then, “She slipped.”
“She slipped because she was pushed. I mean to know who pushed her. I mean to bring the whole damned crowd to justice. And I want you to help me. For Margaret’s sake-for your own sake-I want you to help me. I don’t ask you to appear in the matter at all. You can go off abroad tomorrow and be out of it all. If you’re wise, you’ll keep out of it. I want to know who’s got those statements of Margaret’s.”
“Grey Mask,” said Freddy with a shudder.
“Who is Grey Mask?”
Freddy shuddered again.
“No-one-knows.”
“Don’t you know?”
Again that curious rigidity, that fixed stare of fear.
“Freddy, pull yourself together! I’m not asking for anything that will compromise you-I only want your help for Margaret. I can’t work in the dark. Give me a hint of whom to approach.”
“I can’t tell you anything.”
“Look here, Freddy, you’re forcing my hand. If you don’t help-if you won’t help me, I shall have to take my own way. I shall have to take it more or less in the dark. Margaret may suffer-you yourself may suffer. Don’t you see that the minute I move I may pull the whole thing down? If you’ll help me, I believe we can get Margaret out, and I swear I’ll do my best for you. But if I have to go on without knowing where I am, it may very easily mean the worst kind of smash.”
Freddy sat silent.
“You see you force my hand. I can’t delay any longer. I can go to the police and tell them what I know, or”-he spoke very slowly and deliberately-“I can go to Pullen and try to do a deal with him.”
Freddy Pelham started forward. His left hand gripped the table leg; his right fell fumbling on the handle of a drawer.
“Who’s-Pullen?”
Charles laughed angrily.
“Don’t you know? I think you do. Well? Are you going to help me? Or am I to try Pullen or-Lenny Morrison?”
Freddy’s mouth opened, but for a moment no sound came. Then in a whisper, he began to say “Go”; and having brought the word out once, it seemed as if he could not stop saying it:
“Go-go-go-”
Charles walked to the door. The scene had become as useless as it was painful. He walked to the door, and with his hand already on the knob, he turned.
He saw the untidy littered room. He saw the untidy littered table. And he saw Freddy Pelham with an automatic in his hand. He saw Freddy’s face, different, quite hard, quite cool. He saw Freddy’s eyes, the eyes of a stranger. And he saw all these things in a flashing moment that could not be counted as time. It had the instantaneous character of thought. And before the next second followed, two things happened simultaneously-Freddy Pelham fired, and Charles ducked. He heard the shot as a muffled sound that passed into the ringing of a thousand bells. He plunged down into darkness.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Archie Millar had been spending the most horrible afternoon of his life. He went first to Harridge’s, where he questioned the commissionaire without adding anything to what Mrs. Foster had already told him. He then rang up The Luxe, only to discover that Charles Moray was not in the hotel.
He found Miss Silver’s office closed, and again rang up The Luxe. Still no Charles.
After this he rushed into Sauterelle’s and demanded Margaret Langton. Miss Langton had taken a selection of hats to a customer on the other side of London. On the plea of very urgent family affairs Archie extracted the customer’s address and proceeded there. Margaret had left ten minutes before.
He rang up The Luxe again from a public call-office and returned to Sauterelle’s. Margaret had just come in. He had to wait whilst she was fetched. She found a very distracted young man.
“Margaret, she’s gone!”
Margaret did not need to ask who. A most sickening feeling of fear drove the faint colour from her cheeks.
“What has happened.”
“She’s disappeared. Ernestine had no business to leave her.” He poured out the commissionaire’s story. “I’m nearly off my head. Charles told me about the bus. They’ve carried her off. Heaven knows why she went with him, but she’s such a darlin’ little innocent, she’d never think- Margaret, what are we to do?”
“You must go to the police.” Her voice was quite steady.
“Charles said-Look here, I’ll have another shot at Miss Silver first.”
“I’ve heard of her. But I don’t see-”
“Charles was seein’ her. She knows all about everythin’. He told me last night. I wish to heaven I could get hold of Charles. It’s past five-he may have come in. I’ll go and have another shot.”
“Wait,” said Margaret. “Wait a minute. I-there’s something I can do. I get off at six. There’s someone I can go and see. I don’t know that it’s much good, but-it might be. Where shall I find you?”
“Better telephone to Ernestine. I’ll ring up at intervals and find out if there’s any message. I can’t tell where I’ll be.”
He went off once again, tried to get Charles, and, failing, asked without hope for Maud Silver’s number. To his overwhelming relief he got it, heard a most welcome click, and then Miss Silver’s voice saying “Hullo!”
“Miss Silver, is that you?”
“Speaking.”
“It’s Archie Millar. I’ve met you at my cousin’s. Charles Moray told me-”
“Quite so, Mr. Millar. I may say I’ve been expecting you.”
“I came round, and your office was shut up.”
“Quite so-I had to go out. You wish for news of Miss Wilson?”
“Miss Silver, d’you know where she is?”
“I know where I think you may have news of her. Will you take down the address? Number ten, Grange Square.”
“But I say, Miss Silver, that’s where-I say, you know what I mean-isn’t that-”
Miss Silver rang off.
Quarter of an hour later he was ringing the doorbell of No. 10. The door was opened by a plain, neat young woman in cap and apron. Of butler or footman there was no sign. Up to this very moment it had not occurred to Archie that he had no idea for whom he was going to ask; his idea had been to get to the house, to get news of Greta, to-well, to get to the house.
He looked at the plain young woman, and felt like a fool.
“Mr. Millar?” said the maid.
Archie walked into the hall and followed dumbly up a marble stair. On the first floor, a long corridor with Persian runners; a dim, soft light; and air of hushed expectancy.
Archie stopped being harassed and torn by doubts and fears. An overpowering sensation of having walked straight into a story from the Arabian Nights removed all other feelings. He breathed the air of hushed expectancy and found it pleasant.
The maid opened a door.
“Mr. Millar,” she said.
Archie passed into the room and heard the door close behind him.
The room was large and solemn; it had the ordered richness of a shrine. The Persian rugs upon the floor were dim and soft and old. The light came from crystal sconces set on the panelled walls.
Archie looked down the room and beheld Miss Margot Standing curled up on a purple couch. She wore a white frock and a pleased expression. She was eating chocolates.