'Somebody.' she said with a slight quiver in her voice, 'has been here.'
'Must have heard us coming and dashed out of the window,' agreed Packy.
'Perhaps they're on the balcony!'
'I'll look.'
'Oh, do take care!'
'No,' said Packy, returning, 'there's no one there. They must have got away. It's an easy drop.'
The pallor of her face attracted his notice. If ever there was a girl who needed a strong man to clasp her little waist and draw her to him and stroke her hair and breathe comforting words to her, it was the hitherto intrepid Jane Opal: and it was gall to Packy to think that, simply because she had got herself tangled up with the unspeakable Blair Eggleston, the honour of the Franklyns must cause him to censor the first three items on the list.
However, he could breathe comforting words, and he did so.
'Don't be scared,' he said. 'There's nothing to be frightened about. They have gone. I never saw anything like this house for burglars. They absolutely congest the place. The Château Blis-sac seems to have burglars the way other houses have mice. However, it's all for the best. They have very conveniently opened the safe for us, so I don't see what we've got to grumble at.'
Jane's composure had returned.
'Quick! Look inside and see if it's still there. The letter, I mean.'
Packy did so.
'Yes, this must be it. Yes, this is it, all right.'
'Are you sure?'
'Quite.'
'Then,' said Gordon Carlisle, emerging from beneath the bed, 'just hand it over.'
He pulled himself to his feet. There was an automatic pistol in his hand. He directed it at Packy.
'And make it snappy,' he said.
To a young couple engaged in burgling their hostess's bedroom the sudden appearance of an armed desperado is always disconcerting. Neither Packy nor Jane bore the experience with perfect composure. Jane made an odd little noise like a startled kitten and backed slowly towards the window. Packy stood where he was, regarding Mr Carlisle, astounded.
'Stand still,' said that nervous but determined man.
Jane ceased to retreat. She cast a questioning look at Packy. He had proved himself in these last few days so noteworthy a man of resource that she was not without some faint hope that he might be able to do something about this.
But Packy had no immediate plans. He was still staring at the Duc de Pont-Andemer with bulging eyes. This sudden transformation of one on whom he had looked till now as a respectable member of the French aristocracy had paralysed him.
His sojourn under the bed had not toned up Mr Carlisle's nervous system. Such close proximity to even an insensible Soup Slattery had affected him unpleasantly. More than ever, he wanted to get this business finished and return to his own less exacting walk in life. Growing panic lent a sharpness to his voice.
'Hand over that letter!'
'I won't,' said Packy, finding speech.
He wished that Mr Carlisle could have been just a few feet closer. He was just too far away for tackling purposes.
'I'll count ten.'
'Count all you want.'
'One... two...'
Packy attempted to appeal to his reason.
'You don't really want it. It's just a letter.'
'Three... four...'
'If you're collecting autographs...'
'Five... six... seven...'
Packy began to feel irritated.
'Do stop imitating a cuckoo-clock, and let's sit down quietly and talk it over. You can't possibly want a letter that's of no value whatever except to the owner.'
'Eight... nine...'
'Ten,' said Miss Putnam in the doorway. 'You're out!'
She walked composedly into the room, followed by Mrs Gedge.
5
On occasions when any little group of men and women are gathered together, nothing spoils the evening more than the absence of introductions. The perfect hostess will always attend to this branch of her duties first of all. Miss Putnam lost no time in making her identity clear.
'Presenting Kate Amelia Putnam, of the James B. Flaherty Detective Agency of New York,' she said amiably, holding the pistol in her hand on a steady line with Mr Carlisle's pelvis. 'Drop that gun. And you,' she added to Packy, 'keep your hands up.'
Mr Carlisle's automatic dropped to the floor. Miss Putnam seemed well content.
'Now we're all set,' she said. 'Mrs G., might I trouble you to step across and pick up that cannon. And while you're there...you see that little ninctobinkus on the writing-table...'
She indicated a small woollen rabbit of rather weak-minded aspect which had apparently been designed as a penwiper.
'Put it on top of his head. We may as well have a little demonstration in case any of them are tempted to try any funny business.'
Mrs Gedge laid the object on Mr Carlisle's hair and backed away.
'Now, then,' said Miss Putnam. 'William Tell stuff.'
There was a sharp report. The rabbit seemed to explode.
'That'll show you,' said Miss Putnam, simpering slightly.
There is always a somewhat breath-taking quality about a pistol shot. Miss Putnam's entire audience were visibly affected. The first to recover was Mr Carlisle. He turned to Mrs Gedge, spluttering.
'This is an outrage!' he said, speaking in the justly incensed tone which French Ducs always employ when they have had woollen rabbits shot off their heads. 'Figure to yourself, Madame, I hear a noise and I come at great risk and I find this man burgling your safe and I defend your property, and now this woman comes and shoots at me.'
Miss Putnam could not let this pass.
'I didn't shoot at you. If I had of, I'd of hit you.'
'By what right,' demanded Mr Carlisle, 'am I treated as if I were a...'
'All this,' said Miss Putnam, 'would go a lot stronger with me if I wasn't hep that you were Oily Carlisle. Take off those whiskers, Oily, we know you.'
'Oh, you do, do you?' said Mr Carlisle, starting with some violence and ceasing abruptly to portray a French aristocrat in a state of righteous indignation. He was aware that the retort was a weak one, but he was not feeling in good debating form.
Packy now spoke. He had had time to collect himself, and he saw his line of action clearly.
'Smart work!' he said in a crisp, approving sort of voice. 'Capital, capital! I dare say Mrs Gedge has told you that I, too, am in your line of business. I am one of the staff of detectives employed by the London, Paris and New York Insurance Company, and they sent me here to look after Mrs Gedge's jewels. Miss Opal came to me just now and told me she had heard noises in here, so I came down to investigate, and this fellow covered me with his gun. Most fortunately, you arrived, so all is well. You have done splendidly, Miss Putnam,' said Packy, hoping that he was not being too patronizing. 'I shall advise my employers to write a special letter to your firm commending you highly for your work to-night. Very smart work, indeed.'
'I could listen for ever,' said Miss Putnam, 'but I know all about you, too, buddy. I got the London and Paris on the wire this evening, and they've never heard of you in their lives. So don't bother about that letter.'
Packy subsided. He was blaming himself. The fact that Miss Putnam had not been drowned at birth was the fault, of course, of her parents. But to his personal negligence was due the fact that she had not been drowned in the Château Blissac's leaky cistern.
'Well,' said Mrs Gedge, 'you were right.'
'I always am,' said Miss Putnam.
'You said they would try to burgle the safe tonight.'
'I knew they would, as soon as I heard Mr Gedge hadn't been at dinner. One of them got him out of the way somehow. I don't know which of them it was, but it doesn't matter.'
'Where is Mr Gedge?' demanded the bereaved wife.
'Search me,' said Mr Carlisle sullenly.
'He's on my boat,' said Packy, feeling that nothing was to be gained by concealing this minor point.
Miss Put
nam eyed him keenly.
'If you beaned him and tied him up, boy, that'll make things a lot worse for you.'
'No. He went quite willingly.'
'Well, we'll go into that when we get him back.'
She appeared to be about to speak further, but at this moment a voice spoke in the doorway.
'Goosh!'
Senator Opal was standing there in a mauve dressing-gown that matched his face. He stared in horror at the scene before him. An intelligent man, he had no need to ask what had occurred. He came totteringly into the room, and Miss Putnam uttered a piercing cry.
'Get out of the way, you mutt!'
It was too late. He had wandered across her line of fire, and Mr Carlisle was a swift thinker.
Of what occurred in the next few second it is reluctantly that the historian brings himself to write. He has been at pains all through this chronicle to lay stress on the intense gentlemanliness of Gordon Carlisle, and Mr Carlisle's behaviour now fell far below its customary standard. For, seeing a heaven-sent Senator in between him and his formidable foe, Gordon Carlisle definitely lapsed.
Darting forward, he seized Jane. Employing her as a shield, he dashed to the window. Then, reaching the window, he hurled her at the on-coming Miss Putnam with such force and shrewdness of aim that the efficient woman went down as if she had been pole-axed. And long before she had succeeded in regaining her feet the window had slammed and there came faintly from beyond it the sound of a heavy body dropping to earth.
Miss Putnam did what she could. In the execution of their duties the employees of the James B. Flaherty Agency do not spare themselves. The window opened and slammed again, and this time from out of the night there sounded a fusillade of shots, mingled with the roar of an accelerated motor engine.
She came back into the room, drooping a little.
'They got away,' she said.
Her attention was attracted to the fact that in the interval of her absence a brawl appeared to have broken out in the Venetian Room. Packy was still where she had left him, but he had now been joined by Mrs Gedge, who was pulling at his arm. The liveliness of the scene was increased by the fact that Senator Opal was pulling at Mrs Gedge.
'Stop him!' cried Mrs Gedge, seeing her ally. 'He's eating it!'
'Eating what?' said Miss Putnam, mystified.
'Don't worry,' said the Senator buoyantly. 'He's through.'
He gripped Packy's hand and shook it warmly.
'All finished?'
'That was the last mouthful,' said Packy, swallowing. As palatable a letter as I ever tasted.'
'Nice work, my boy!'
'Packy' said Jane, 'you're wonderful!'
'I wonder,' said Packy, addressing Mrs Gedge, 'if I might have a glass of water?'
Mrs Gedge had regained command of herself She stood there, a statue of Doom.
'You'll be sorry' she said.
'Here, what is all this?' asked Miss Putnam.
'He has eaten Senator Opal's letter.'
'He has? Buddy,' said Miss Putnam, eyeing Packy with severity, 'you must like trouble, the way you keep right on asking for it.'
She suspended her remarks once more. She had spied strangers. The doorway had come a staring mass of them. The butler was there. The cook was there. So were what seemed a regiment of the lesser servitors. You cannot fire pistols in a country house during the small hours without exciting interest among the domestic staff.
'Get out of here,' said Miss Putnam, annoyed. She was always opposed to the presence of the general public on these occasions. 'What do you think this is – a circus?'
She removed herself temporarily from the centre of operations. She could be heard out in the passage and on the stairs driving a reluctant mob before her.
Mrs Gedge's eyes were hard. Her lips quivered.
'Yes, you'll certainly be sorry' she said.
'I'm glad,' said Senator Opal, correcting this view.
'You won't be long. I'll give you your choice. You make my husband Ambassador to France, or this man and your daughter go to prison. Think quick.'
'Miss Opal had nothing to do with it,' said Packy. 'She just came down because she heard a noise.'
'I didn't,' said Jane. 'I came with you.'
'Fathead!' said Packy. 'What did you want to say that for?'
'Do you think I'm going to run out on you?'
'Yes, but...'
'Well?' said Mrs Gedge.
Something stirred beneath the bed. A battered head appeared, followed by a massive body. Soup Slattery was back in the world of men.
'Cheese!' he observed, rising slowly to his feet and passing a meditative hand over his skull.
Then it seemed to come to him that he was not alone. He looked about him dazedly. His eye fell on Mrs Gedge, and he backed against the safe, his eyes widening.
In Mrs Gedge's demeanour, also, a close observer might have noted an equal consternation. Her rigidity now was not that of righteous wrath. She seemed paralysed, as if by the sight of a ghost.
Twice Mr Slattery's mouth opened, and twice no words came.
The third time, he was luckier.
'Julia!' he gasped.
Miss Putnam came back into the room, swinging her revolver like a clouded cane. She halted, and a pleased smile played across her face.
'In person!' said Miss Putnam. 'I thought so. We were expecting you, Mr Slattery.'
6
It was an observation which seemed to call for a reply, but Soup Slattery did not give one. He was still staring with that expression of profound amazement.
'Julia!' he said. 'Julia! What are you doing here, Julia?'
To Miss Putnam this seemed mere trifling.
'My name is not Julia,' she said curtly.
Packy saw all.
'No, but hers is,' he said, pointing at Mrs Gedge. 'And our Mr Slattery told me all about her. Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce Long-Lost Julia, the best inside-worker a safe-blower ever had.'
'What,' enquired Miss Putnam, 'are you gibbering about?'
'I am not gibbering. If this is really Mr Slattery's Julia – and it is?'
'Sure,' said Mr Slattery. 'What are you doing here, Julia?'
'... she was for years Mr Slattery's partner in his enterprises. She used to get herself invited to all these swell homes, having class. And if the pete was in a dame's room she would slip in first and put a sponge of chloroform under her nose, so that by the time Mr Slattery arrived everything was hotsy-totsy. But in the end she walked out on him, and this is where she walked to. Ladies and gentlemen, featuring Mrs Gedge, the many-sided. Am I right, Mr Slattery?'
'Sure.'
The safe-blower was still dazed, but this did not prevent him from displaying a nice gallantry.
'You look just the same as ever, Julia. Not a day older.'
It was a handsome tribute, and well deserved, for Mrs Gedge, though not looking her best at the actual moment, was an exceedingly attractive woman. It was plain, however, that she did not appreciate the compliment. Her face twisted, her eyes shone with a baleful light, and those shapely hands of hers tightened into two fists.
'You poor goop,' she said, in a hard, strained voice, 'I'd like to paste you one.'
To Miss Putnam, watching her thoughtfully, the remark brought conviction. It was as if the veneer which for want of a better word Mr Slattery had described as 'class', had fallen from Mrs Gedge like a garment. Doubtful before, Miss Putnam now accepted the truth of Packy's words.
Mr Slattery was concerned.
'I'm sorry if I've caused trouble, Julia.'
Packy reassured him.
'You've caused anything but trouble. You've saved the situation. You've brought the good news from Aix to Ghent. I hardly think our hostess will carry out that scheme of hers for having us all arrested for burglary now.'
Miss Putnam nodded.
'Better give up the idea, Mrs G. They've got the goods on you. I see now why you took it so big when I mentioned that Soup Slattery
was in the neighbourhood.'
Senator Opal had stepped forward like one about to bestow the Freedom of the City.
'I would like to shake hands with you, Mr Slattery.'
'Yeah?' said Soup, giving him a hard stare.
He put his hands behind him. The Slatterys did not lightly forget.
'Well,' said Miss Putnam, speaking with regret, for it was not thus that she had hoped the night would end, 'seeing everybody's old friends here and there's nothing doing in my line, I'll be off to bed and catch up with my beauty-sleep.'
She walked pensively to the door. Reaching it, she turned to deliver a parting homily.
This is what comes of having a past, Mrs G. No good to anyone, a past. Never know when it'll crop up. And me explaining to you what an inside stand was! Well, good night, all,' said Miss Putnam, and passed from the scene, a disappointed woman.
In the room she had left there was silence for some moments.
'Well... 'said Mr Slattery.
He left the sentence uncompleted. But that it had been intended for a speech of farewell was shown by the fact that he now moved towards the window.
'Yes, get out of here,' said Mrs Gedge.
Mr Slattery paused with his hand on the curtains.
'So you quit me to marry some rich guy, did you, Julia? Well, I'm not saying you wasn't right. It's a mug's game, this pete-blowing business, what I mean. Me, I'm retiring myself. Going to buy a farm. Good-bye.'
The curtains fell behind him.
'And now you get out, all of you,' said Mrs Gedge.
'Madam,' said Senator Opal, 'rest assured... that...'
He broke off and stood staring. There had come from the passage outside the sound of uncertain feet. A hand clutched the door-frame, appearing from nowhere like a hand in a mystery play. There came the sound of an amused laugh, and across the threshold walked J. Wellington Gedge.
He navigated towards the bed and propped himself up against it. To the discerning eye, it was all too clear that Mr Gedge was many fathoms beneath the surface.
The mutual recognition of J. Wellington Gedge and the Vicomte de Blissac on Packy's boat some hours earlier had had the natural effect of relieving both their minds to a very marked extent. After the first moment of panic, when each had thought the other a visitant from another world, the thing had become a joy-feast. For perhaps half an hour they had sat side by side, telling each other their frank opinion of Packy and sketching out roughly what they would do when they returned to the Château together and confronted him; and at the end of that period the Vicomte had suggested that they could not possibly confront Packy as he should be confronted without first fortifying themselves with food and drink.