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for Bliss, but there was no sign of him. When he returned to the police station,
he was taken aback to learn that Bliss had indeed reported the burglary, given
times and full particulars, and had added a note to his report to the effect that
Divisional Inspector Wembury had charge of the case.
Alan was baffled. If Bliss s account was true, who could have been the first
man to climb up the rope? And what other object had he in burgling Mary
Lenley s flat than a search for the code? It brought The Ringer too near for
comfort. Here was a mystery, which was never solved until that night of horror
when The Ringer came to Meister s house.
Two little problems were recurring to Mary Lenley from day to day. Not the
least important of these was contained in the formula,  Shall I tell Maurice?
Should she tell Maurice that she had been to tea with Alan Wembury& should
she tell him of the burglary that had been committed the night before? On the
whole she felt the least unpleasant confession, the one which would probably
absorb him to the exclusion, was the second of her adventures.
Maurice was not down when she arrived, and Mr. Samuel Hackitt, newly
installed in the Meister household, was polishing wearily the window that
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looked out on to the leads. He had made his appearance a few days before, and
in spite of his unpleasant past Mary liked the little man.
 Good morning, miss. He touched an invisible cap.  The old man s still up
in bed, bless his old heart!
 Mr. Meister had a heavy night, she said primly.
  Thick is the word I d use, said Sam, wringing out a leather cloth at his
leisure.
Very wisely Mary did not encourage any further revelations.
 Funny old house, this, miss. Sam knocked with his knuckle at one of the
panels.  Holler. It s more like a rabbit warren than a house.
Mr. Meister s residence had been built in the days when Peter the Great was
still living in Deptford. She passed this news of historical interest on to the
wholly unimpressed man.
 I never knew Peter& King, was he? That sounds like one of Meister s lies.
 It s history, Sam, she said severely, as she dusted her typewriter.
 I don t take any notice of history  that s lies, too, said Hackitt, calmly.
 Lor miss, you don t know all the his try books I ve read   Ume, Macaulay,
Gibbons, the feller that wrote all about Rome.
She was astounded.
 You ve read them?
He nodded.
 Studied  em, he said solemnly, so solemnly that she laughed.
 You re quite a student: I didn t realise that you were such a well read man.
 You have to do something in  stir , said Sam, and she realised that this
reading of his had whiled away some period of his incarceration.
He had an extraordinary stock of knowledge on unlikely subjects. Possibly
this was gained under similar circumstances. Once or twice he strayed to the
piano, although this had been dusted and polished, as she could see in her face
reflected in the black top; but the piano f
ascinated him, and probably he had a
higher respect for Mr. Meister because of his musical qualities than for his
knowledge of the law. He depressed a key that tinkled sharply and apologised.
 I m going up to Scotland Yard tomorrow, miss, he said, and she thought it
had something to do with his recent imprisonment, and expressed only a polite
interest.  Never been there before, said Sam complacently.  but I suppose it s
like every other busy s office  one chair, one table, one pair of handcuffs, a
sergeant and forty-five thousand perjuring liars!
The entrance of Meister at that moment cut short his speculations. Maurice
looked shaky and ill, she thought. After he had gruffly dismissed his new
servitor, he told her he had slept badly.
 Where did you go , he began.
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She thought it was an excellent moment to tell him of her burglar. And
because she did not wish to talk of Cora Ann she made no reference to the
stolen letter. He listened in amazement,, until she came to the interview which
Alan had had with Inspector Bliss.
 Bliss! That s queer!
He stod up, his eyes tightened, as though he were facing a bright light.
 Bliss& I haven t seen him for years. He s been in America. A clever
fellow& Bliss& humph!
 But don t you think it was extraordinary, Maurice, that he should climb up
into my flat, or that there should have been anybody there before him  what
profit can they find in burgling my poor little apartment?
Maurice shook his head.
 I don t believe it. Bliss wanted to find something in your room. The yarn
about another man having gone up is all bunk.
 But what could he find? she insisted, and Maurice Meister was not
prepared to offer a convincing reason.
Bliss! He had no right in Deptford, unless
Maurice was both puzzled and apprehensive. The advent of a Central man to
Deptford could only indicate some extraordinary happening, and in his mind he
went over the various events which might be calculated to interest that exalted
policeman. Strangely enough, Deptford at this moment was unusually well
behaved. There had been no serious charges in the division for three months,
and Meister, who had his finger in more lawless pies than his worst enemy gave
him credit for, knew that there had been no steal of such importance that
Scotland Yard would send one who was reputedly its most promising officer to
conduct an independent examination.
By some extraordinary process, peculiarly his own, he decided that there was
nothing sinister in this attention. Probably Head-quarters were trying out the
new divisional inspector, and had sent this wise and experienced officer to
discover the extent of his acquaintance with the Lenleys.
Meister s breakfast was not an elaborate meal, and was usually served in his
little bureau. This morning it consisted, as usual, of a cup of coffee, a small
plate of fruit and a biscuit. He unfolded the newspaper by the side of his table
and glanced at it idly. His life was so full that he had little time for, or interest
in, the great events of the world; but a news item at the top of the columns
caught his eye.
PRISON RIOT
CONVICT SAVES THE LIFE OF DEPUTY GOVERNOR
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He glanced through the description, expecting to find a name with which he
was familiar, but, as is usual in these cases, a strict anonymity was preserved as
to the identity of the prisoner concerned. There had been a riot in a county jail;
the ringleaders had struck down a warder and taken possession of his keys, and
would have killed the deputy governor, who happened to be in the prison hall at
the time, but for the bravery of a convict who, with the aid of a broom handle,
defended the official till armed warders came on the scene. Maurice pursed his
lips and smiled. His regard for the criminal was a very low one. They were
hardly human beings; he speculated idly on what reward the heroic convict
would receive. Something more than he deserved.
Opening the box of cigars that was on the table, he bit off the end and lit a
long, black cheroot, and as he smoked his mind vacillated between Mary and [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]