Menzies bitterly. ‘I know. Go on.’
‘He stopped to help me. Mr Hallett was giving me a fair rough time. It took the two of us to tackle him properly. He kept it up for about three minutes, and then gave in.’
‘And by that time the girl might have been in Timbuctoo. He laid a nice trap for you, and you both fell into it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did you arrest him?’
‘No. We thought it ought to be reported to you before we did anything.’
‘That’s the only gleam of common sense you showed in the whole business. Go away. I’ll think it over. And the next time you’re shadowing, young man, remember you’ve got to stick—if the heavens fall you’ve got to stick!’
He whistled softly to himself when the other was gone.
‘I thought as much. She’s got him on a bit of string—and Hallett is a brainy man.’
He revolved the matter steadily in his mind as he walked to Palace Avenue. Hallett, if he could be persuaded, would be a valuable ally in discovering what information Peggy Greye-Stratton had withheld. Menzies used the instruments to his hands; and there was no reason why he should have scruples. If he had troubled at all to formulate the ethics of the question, he might have argued that when a crime was committed a girl who deliberately withheld or evaded giving information could not fairly object to any means adopted to break her taciturnity. That the role he proposed allotting to Hallett was actually that of a spy did not concern him. That would be Hallett’s own affair, if he accepted the commission.
Royal appeared out of nowhere as he neared the corner of Palace Avenue.
‘Not come back yet,’ he reported, laconically.
‘Well, there’s plenty of time yet,’ said Menzies, with a resignation that had been conspicuously absent in his talk with the delinquent officer. ‘She’s bound to turn up. You’d better ’phone for Gould to relieve you, and get down to the court to charge Smith.’
He strolled on to the block of flats, sent his card in to the manager in a sealed envelope, briefly explained as much of his errand as was necessary, and was presently confronted with a weedy, pale-faced youth, who nervously twisted his cap in his hands as the detective questioned him. His story varied nothing from the statement Gould had made.
‘Now, don’t get flustered, old chap,’ said Menzies, with that naÏve, bluff air he knew so well how to assume. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t know the man again? Try and think for a moment. Was he tall or short, fat or thin?’
‘Just an ordinary-looking man,’ said the attendant. ‘I didn’t pay any notice.’
‘No, of course not. Do you remember if he had a beard, or moustache, or was he clean-shaven?’
The youth wrinkled his brows, and after a moment’s thought shook his head.
‘Couldn’t say, sir. I rather believe he was clean-shaven.’
It was hopeless to try to extract a description from him. Menzies had expected as much. Observation is not in most people a natural gift; it is a matter of the most meticulous training, and many and laborious are the hours spent in teaching recruits to the C.I.D. staff the art of noticing. He switched to another point.
‘When the man came out of her flat, did he seem in a hurry?’
‘No, sir; not particularly. He rang for the lift.’
‘Didn’t say anything?’
‘Not to me. At least, he had something in his hand. He dropped it, and when it rolled down the shaft he swore. I offered to go and get it, but he said it didn’t matter—it was only a halfpenny.’
‘H’m!’
Menzies stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and tapped his toe on the floor.
‘You went and made sure it was only a halfpenny afterwards, of course?’
The man’s eyes had hitherto not met his. Now they were fixed boldly on his face.
‘No,’ he declared; ‘I didn’t think it worthwhile.’
A man may fail to look one in the face and be perfectly honest and truthful. But when such a man does meet questioning with a steady eye it is because he has become conscious that an averted gaze may arouse suspicion. Menzies smiled under his moustache, and stretched out a hand.
‘Where is it?’ he added quietly. ‘Give it to me.’
The lift attendant flushed and drew back. The directness of the demand had disconcerted him.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said. ‘I haven’t got anything.’
‘That so?’ said Menzies, smilingly. And then, with a swift change of voice: ‘Now, sonny, don’t let’s have any monkey business. You can’t play with me.’
Reluctantly, as though hypnotised, the attendant thrust two fingers into his waistcoat pocket, slowly drew something out, and placed it in the detective’s hand.
It was a plain, heavy circlet of gold—a wedding ring!
JIMMIE HALLETT ran into Weir Menzies in the police-court corridor after the magistrate had formally remanded ‘William Smith’. The detective threw up his hands quickly in the attitude of one parrying a blow.
‘Don’t hit me, Mr Hallett,’ he implored. ‘I’ve got a weak heart.’
Jimmie grinned a little shame-facedly. He had not been quite sure how the detective chief would take the assault on the shadowers of Miss Greye-Stratton. He brazened it out.
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ he demanded.
Menzies caught him about the arms and pulled him into a small room set apart for consultations between lawyers and clients.
‘I suppose you know that men have got six months for less than you did this afternoon? You can’t knock police-officers about with impunity, you know.’
There was an underlying current of seriousness in his jocular tone which Jimmie could not fail to perceive. He ran his hand through his hair.
‘I’ll see you,’ he said, adopting the language of the poker table. ‘What are you driving at?’
‘This.’ The detective laid a thick forefinger on the palm of his left hand. ‘You’ve got sense, Mr Hallett, and you’ve had experience. Now, I’ve gone into your credentials, and I believe you’re straight. But I’m not going to stand any funny business. I’m investigating a case of murder, and anyone who stands in the way is liable to get hurt. Now, don’t interrupt. Let me finish. I don’t know whether you were playing a little game after lunch to win the girl’s confidence, or if she talked you over.’
He paused inquiringly.
Hallett pressed his lips together firmly.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘Right. You were pushed into this at the start, and I’ve tried to treat you fairly. Don’t you forget murder’s a dirty thing, however you look at it. I don’t say Miss Greye-Stratton’s not straight, but she knows a deuce of a sight more than she ought to—or than she’s telling us. She’s got something up her sleeve. She’s no fool, for all her pretty face. She seems to have taken a fancy to you. Do you know why?’
The other shook his head, although he had a very good idea as to what Menzies was going to say. His face was impassive.
‘For the same reason that the man we’ve got below tried to get you this morning. You’re an important witness. She wants to shut