The Daffodil Mystery

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE SILENCING OF SAM STAY

  There was a criminal in London who was watched day and night. It was nonew experience to Sam Stay to find an unconcerned-looking detectivestrolling along behind him; but for the first time in his life theburglar was neither disconcerted nor embarrassed by these attentions.

  The death of Thornton Lyne had been the most tragic blow which hadever overtaken him. And if they had arrested him he would have beenindifferent. For this hang-dog criminal, with the long, melancholyface, lined and seamed and puckered so that he appeared to be an old man,had loved Thornton Lyne as he had loved nothing in his wild and barrenlife. Lyne to him had been some divine creature, possessed gifts andqualities which no other would have recognised in him. In Sam's eyes Lynecould have done no wrong. By Sam Stay's standard he stood for all thatwas beautiful in human nature.

  Thornton Lyne was dead! Dead, dead, dead.

  Every footfall echoed the horrible, unbelievable word. The man wasincapable of feeling--every other pain was deadened in this greatsuffering which was his.

  And who had been the cause of it all? Whose treachery had cut short thiswonderful life? He ground his teeth at the thought. Odette Rider! Heremembered the name. He remembered all the injuries she had done to thisman, his benefactor. He remembered that long conversation which Lyne andhe had had on the morning of Sam's release from prison and the planningswhich had followed.

  He could not know that his hero was lying, and that in his pique and hurtvanity he was inventing grievances which had no foundation, and offenceswhich had never been committed. He only knew that, because of the hatewhich lay in Thornton Lyne's heart, justifiable hate from Sam's view, thedeath of this great man had been encompassed.

  He walked aimlessly westward, unconscious of and uncaring for hisshadower, and had reached the end of Piccadilly when somebody took himgently by the arm. He turned, and as he recognised an acquaintance, histhick lips went back in an ugly snarl.

  "It's all right, Sam," said the plain-clothes policeman with a grin."There's no trouble coming to you. I just want to ask you a fewquestions."

  "You fellows have been asking questions day and night since--since thathappened," growled Sam.

  Nevertheless, he permitted himself to be mollified and led to a seat inthe Park.

  "Now, I'm putting it to you straight, Sam," said the policeman. "We'vegot nothing against you at the Yard, but we think you might be able tohelp us. You knew Mr. Lyne; he was very decent to you."

  "Here, shut up," said Sam savagely. "I don't want to talk about it. Idon't want to think about it! D'ye hear? He was the grandest fellow thatever was, was Mr. Lyne, God bless him! Oh, my God! My God!" he wailed,and to the detective's surprise this hardened criminal buried his face inhis hands.

  "That's all right, Sam. I know he was a nice fellow. Had he anyenemies--he might have talked to a chap like you where he wouldn't havetalked to his friends."

  Sam, red-eyed, looked up suspiciously.

  "Am I going to get into any trouble for talking?" he said.

  "None at all, Sam," said the policeman quickly. "Now, you be a good ladand do all you can to help us, and maybe, if you ever get into trouble,we'll put one in for you. Do you see? Did anybody hate him?"

  Sam nodded.

  "Was it a woman?" asked the detective with studied indifference.

  "It was," replied the other with an oath. "Damn her, it was! He treatedher well, did Mr. Lyne. She was broke, half-starving; he took her out ofthe gutter and put her into a good place, and she went about makingaccusations against him!"

  He poured forth a stream of the foulest abuse which the policeman hadever heard.

  "That's the kind of girl she was, Slade," he went on, addressing thedetective, as criminals will, familiarly by their surnames. "She ain'tfit to walk the earth----"

  His voice broke.

  "Might I ask her name?" demanded Slade.

  Again Sam looked suspiciously around.

  "Look here," he said, "leave me to deal with her. I'll settle with her,and don't you worry!"

  "That would only get you into trouble, Sam," mused Slade. "Just give usher name. Did it begin with an 'R'?"

  "How do I know?" growled the criminal. "I can't spell. Her name wasOdette."

  "Rider?" said the other eagerly.

  "That's her. She used to be cashier in Lyne's Store."

  "Now, just quieten yourself down and tell me all Lyne told you about her,will you, my lad?"

  Sam Stay stared at him, and then a slow look of cunning passed over hisface.

  "If it was her!" he breathed. "If I could only put her away for it!"

  Nothing better illustrated the mentality of this man than the fact thatthe thought of "shopping" the girl had not occurred to him before. Thatwas the idea, a splendid idea! Again his lips curled back, and he eyedthe detective with a queer little smile.

  "All right, sir," he said. "I'll tell the head-split. I'm not going totell you."

  "That's as it ought to be, Sam," said the detective genially. "You cantell Mr. Tarling or Mr. Whiteside and they'll make it worth your while."

  The detective called a cab and together they drove, not to Scotland Yard,but to Tarling's little office in Bond Street. It was here that the manfrom Shanghai had established his detective agency, and here he waitedwith the phlegmatic Whiteside for the return of the detective he had sentto withdraw Sam Stay from his shadower.

  The man shuffled into the room, looked resentfully from one to the other,nodded to both, and declined the chair which was pushed forward for him.His head was throbbing in an unaccountable way, as it had never throbbedbefore. There were curious buzzes and noises in his ears. It was strangethat he had not noticed this until he came into the quiet room, to meetthe grave eyes of a hard-faced man, whom he did not remember having seenbefore.

  "Now, Stay," said Whiteside, whom at least the criminal recognised, "wewant to hear what you know about this murder."

  Stay pressed his lips together and made no reply.

  "Sit down," said Tarling, and this time the man obeyed. "Now, my lad,"Tarling went on--and when he was in a persuasive mood his voice wassilky--"they tell me that you were a friend of Mr. Lyne's."

  Sam nodded.

  "He was good to you, was he not?"

  "Good?" The man drew a deep breath. "I'd have given my heart and soul tosave him from a minute's pain, I would, sir! I'm telling you straight,and may I be struck dead if I'm lying! He was an angel on earth--my God,if ever I lay me hands on that woman, I'll strangle her. I'll put herout! I'll not leave her till she's torn to rags!"

  His voice rose, specks of foam stood on his lips his whole face seemedtransfigured in an ecstasy of hate.

  "She's been robbing him and robbing him for years," he shouted. "Helooked after her and protected her, and she went and told lies about him,she did. She trapped him!"

  His voice rose to a scream, and he made a move forward towards the desk,both fists clenched till the knuckles showed white. Tarling sprang up,for he recognised the signs. Before another word could be spoken, the mancollapsed in a heap on the floor, and lay like one dead.

  Tarling was round the table in an instant, turned the unconscious man onhis back, and, lifting one eyelid, examined the pupil.

  "Epilepsy or something worse," he said. "This thing has been preying onthe poor devil's mind--'phone an ambulance, Whiteside, will you?"

  "Shall I give him some water?"

  Tarling shook his head.

  "He won't recover for hours, if he recovers at all," he said. "If SamStay knows anything to the detriment of Odette Rider, he is likely tocarry his knowledge to the grave."

  And in his heart of hearts J. O. Tarling felt a little sense ofsatisfaction that the mouth of this man was closed.