At nine o’clock that night the bell of Tab Holland’s
flat rang long and noisily.
“Who the dickens is that?” he growled.
He was in his shirt-sleeves, writing for dear life and
the table was strewn with proofs of his industry.
Rex Lander came out of his bedroom.
“Your boy, I expect,” he said. “I left the lower door
open for him.”
Tab shook his head.
“The office is sending for the copy at eleven,” he said.
“See who it is, Babe.”
Mr. Lander grumbled. He always grumbled when he
was called upon for physical effort. He opened the door
and Tab, hearing a loud and unfamiliar voice, joined him.
On the landing without, was a bearded, swaying figure
and he was talking noisily.
“What is wrong?” asked Tab.
“Everything, sir,” hiccoughed the caller, “everything
is wrong. A man, a gen’leman cannot be robbed with
impunity or assaulted by me-menials with—with—” He
considered a moment and added: “impunity.”
“Bring him in, the poor soused herring,” said Tab, and
Mr. Wellington Brown swaggered and staggered into the
sitting-room. He was abominably intoxicated.
“Wish of you young gen’lemen is Rex Lander?”
“That is my name,” said the puzzled Rex.
“I’m Wellin’ton Brown of Chei-Feu. A pensioner at
the mercy of a dam’ ol’ scound’l! A pension’r! He pays
me a pittance out of what he robbed me. I can tell you
some’n about ol’ Trasmere.”
“Trasmere, my uncle?” asked the startled young man.
The other nodded gravely and sleepily.
“I can tell you some’n about him. I was his bookkeeper
’n sec’tary. I know! I’ll tell you some’n about
him!”
“You can save your breath,” said Rex coldly. “Why
have you come here?”
“Because you’re ’is nephew. Thas why! He robbed
me—robbed me!” he sobbed. “Took bread out ’f the
mouth of innocent child—that what! Took bread out ’f
orphan’s mouth and robbed me, swin’led me out ’f my
share Mancurian Trading Syn’cate, an’ then gave me remittance
’n said ‘Drink yourself to death’—thas what he
said!”
“And did you?” asked Tab sardonically.
The stranger eyed him unfavourably.
“Who’s this?” he demanded.
“This is a friend of mine,” said Rex, “and you’re in
his flat. And if the only business you have is to abuse my
uncle, you can get out just as soon as you like.”
Mr. Wellington Brown tapped the young man’s chest
with a grimy forefinger.
“Your uncle is a rascal! Get that! A low thief!”
“Better write and tell him so,” said Tab, briskly. “Just
now I am engaged in churning out two yards of journalese,
and you’re disturbing my thoughts.”
“Write to him!” roared Mr. Brown delightedly, “write
to him! Thas good—best thing I’ve heard for years!
Why—!”
“Get out!”
Babe Lander threw open the door with a crash and
the visitor glared at him.
“Like uncle, like nephew,” he said, “like nephew, like
lackey—I’m goin’. And let me tell you—”
The door slammed in his face.
“Phew!” said Babe, wiping his brow. “Let’s open the
window and let in some fresh air!”
“Who is he?”
“Search me,” said Rex Lander. “I’ve no illusions about
Uncle Jesse’s early friends. I gather that he’s been a
pensioner of the old boy’s, and there is probably some
truth in his charge that he was robbed. I cannot imagine
uncle giving money away from charitable motives. Anyway,
I’m seeing him tomorrow and I’ll ask.”
“You’ll see nothing,” said Tab. “Do you ever read
the fashionable intelligence or society news? Uncle is
leaving town tomorrow.”
Rex smiled.
“That is an old trick when he doesn’t want to be seen—by
Joab! It is the Wellington who has put his name in
the society column!”
Tab paused, pen in hand.
“Silence will now reign,” he commanded, “whilst a
great journalist deals adequately with the Milligan Murder
Appeal.”
Rex looked at him, admiringly.
“How you can stick your nose at the grindstone is
a source of wonder to me,” he said. “I couldn’t—”
“Shut up!” snapped Tab, and the desirable silence was
his. He finished the last page at eleven, sent off his copy
by a punctual messenger, then filling his pipe, stretched
himself luxuriously in his mission chair.
“Now I’m a free man until Monday afternoon—”
The hall telephone signalled at that moment and he got
up with a groan.
“Boast not!” he growled. “That is the office or I’m a
saint!”
It was the office, as he had so intelligently foreseen.
He snapped a few words at the transmitter and came
back to the room. And Tab was very voluble.
A Polish gentleman concerned in certain frauds on insurance
companies had been arrested, escaped again, and
having barricaded himself in his house, was keeping the
police at bay with the aid of boiling water and a large
axe.
“Jacko is enthusiastic about it,” said the savage Tab,
speaking thus disrespectfully of his city editor, “says it
is real drama—I told him to send the dramatic critic.
Gosh—I did his job the other night.”
“Going out?” asked Rex with mild interest.
“Of course I’m going out, you thick-headed jibberer!”
said the other unkindly as he struggled into the collar he
had discarded.
“I thought all that sort of stuff was invented in the
office,” said the young architect monstrously. “Personally
I never believe what I read in newspapers.”
But Tab had gone.
At midnight he joined a little group of police officers
that stood at safe range from the besieged house, whose
demented occupant had found a shot-gun. Tab was with
them until the door of the house was stormed and the
defender borne down and clubbed to a state of placidity.
At two o’clock in the morning, he and Carver, the chief
of the detectives engaged in the case, adjourned to the
police mess and had supper. It was half-past three and
the streets were lit by the ghostly light of dawn, when
he started to walk home.
Passing through Park Street, he heard the whirr of
wheels and a motor-car flew past him. It had gone a
hundred yards when there came to him the explosion of
a burst tire. He saw the car swerve and stop. A woman
alighted and examined the damage. Apparently she was
alone, for he saw her open the tool-box on the running-board,
and take out a jack. He hastened his footsteps
and crossed to the middle of the road. The only other
person in sight was a cyclist down the road who had
dismounted and was examining his wheel.
“Can I be of any assistance?” asked Tab.
The woman started and turned.
“Miss Ardfern!” he said in astonishment.
For a second she seemed uncomfortable and then with
a quick smile:
“It is Mr. Tab! Please forgive the familiarity, I cannot
remember your other name.”
“Don’t try,” he said, taking the jack from her hands,
“but if you are very anxious to remember, I am called
Holland.”
She said nothing whilst he was raising the car. When
he was knocking the torn wheel free, she said:
“I am out rather late, I have been to a party.”
There was light enough for him to see that she was
dressed very plainly and that the shoes she wore were
heavy and serviceable. He would have gone farther and
said that she was dressed poorly. Inside the car on the
seat by her side was a square black case, smaller but
deeper than a suit-case. Perhaps she had changed her
clothes—but for all their surprising agility in this direction,
actresses do not change their clothes to go home
from a party.
“I have been to a party too,” he said, jerking off the
wheel and rolling it to the front of the car, “a surprise
party with fireworks.”
“A dance?”
Tab smiled to himself.
“I only danced once,” he said, “I saw the gentleman
taking aim with the shot-gun and danced right merrily
yo ho!”
He heard the quick intake of her breath.
“Oh, yes, it was the Pole. We heard the shots and I
knew that he had taken refuge in his house before I left
the theatre.”
The wheel was replaced now, the tools returned and
the old wheel strapped to the car.
“That is O. K.,” said Tab stepping back. “Oh no, it
was nothing,” he said hastily as she began to thank him,
“nothing at all.”
She did not offer to drive him home. He rather hoped
that she would; indeed, her method of going was a little
precipitate, and she was out of sight before he realized
that she was gone.
What on earth was she doing at that time in the morning
he wondered? A party she had said, but again it
occurred to him that fashionable actresses did not go to
parties in that kind of outfit.
Rex was awake when he reached home and came out
to him. Strangely enough, although they discussed the
happenings of the night, Tab did not mention his meeting
with Ursula Ardfern.
