MR. J. G. REEDER SERIES: 5 Mystery Novels & 4 Detective Stories. Edgar Wallace

slow smile broadened.

      “I know he doesn’t; did you get a chance of talking with him?”

      “Plenty of chances. He was in the laundry, and he straightened a couple of screws so that he could do what he liked. He hates you, Peter. He says you shopped him.”

      “He’s a liar,” said Peter calmly. “I wouldn’t shop my worst enemy. He shopped himself. Johnny, the police get a reputation for smartness, but the truth is, every other criminal arrests himself. Criminals aren’t clever. They wear gloves to hide fingerprints, and then write their names in the visitors book. Legge and I smashed the strongroom of the Orsonic and got away with a hundred and twenty thousand pounds in American currency – it was the last job I did. It was dead easy getting away, but Emanuel started boasting what a clever fellow he was; and he drank a bit. An honest man can drink and wake up in his own bed. But a crook who drinks says good morning to the gaoler.”

      He dropped the subject abruptly, and again his hand fell on the younger man’s shoulder.

      “Johnny, you’re not feeling sore, are you?”

      Johnny did not answer.

      “Are you?”

      And now the fight was to begin. John Gray steeled himself for the forlorn hope.

      “About Marney? No, only—”

      “Old boy, I had to do it.” Peter’s voice was urgent, pleading. “You know what she is to me. I liked you well enough to take a chance, but after they dragged you I did some hard thinking. It would have smashed me, Johnny, if she’d been your wife then. I couldn’t bear to see her cry even when she was quite a little baby. Think what it would have meant to her. It was bad enough as it was. And then this fellow came along – a good, straight, clean, cheery fellow – a gentleman. And well, I’ll tell you the truth – I helped him. You’ll like him. He’s the sort of man anybody would like. And she loves him, Johnny.”

      There was a silence.

      “I don’t bear him any ill-will. It would be absurd if I did. Only, Peter, before she marries I want to say—”

      “Before she marries?” Peter Kane’s voice shook. “John, didn’t Barney tell you? She was married this morning.”

Chapter III

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      “Married?”

      Johnny repeated the word dully.

      Marney married… ! It was incredible, impossible to comprehend. For a moment the stays and supports of existence dissolved into dust, and the fabric of life fell into chaos.

      “Married this morning, Johnny. You’ll like him. He isn’t one of us, old boy. He’s as straight as… well, you understand, Johnny boy? I’ve worked for her and planned for her all these years; I’d have been rotten if I took a chance with her future.”

      Peter Kane was pleading, his big hand on the other’s shoulder, his fine face clouded with anxiety and the fear that he had hurt this man beyond remedy.

      “I should have wired…”

      “It would have made no difference,” said Peter Kane almost doggedly. “Nothing could have been changed, Johnny, nothing. It had to be. If you had been convicted innocently – I don’t say you weren’t – I couldn’t have the memory of your imprisonment hanging over her; I couldn’t have endured the uncertainty myself. Johnny, I’ve been crook all my life – up to fifteen years ago. I take a broader view than most men because I am what I am. But she doesn’t know that. Craig’s here to-day—”

      “Craig – the Scotland Yard man?”

      Peter nodded, a look of faint amusement in his eyes.

      “We’re good friends; we have been for years. And do you know what he said this morning? He said, ‘Peter, you’ve done well to marry that girl into the straight way,’ and I know he’s right.”

      Johnny stretched back in the deep cane chair, his hand shading his eyes, as though he found the light too strong for him.

      “I’m not going to be sorry for myself,” he said with a smile, and stretching out his hand, gripped Kane’s arm. “You’ll not have another vendetta on your hands, Peter. I have an idea that Emanuel Legge will keep you busy—”

      He stopped suddenly. The ill-fitted butler had made a stealthy appearance.

      “Peter,” he began in his husky whisper, “he’s come. Do you want to see him?”

      “Who?”

      “Emanuel Legge – uglier than ever.”

      Peter Kane’s face set, mask-like.

      “Where is Miss Marney – Mrs. Floyd?”

      “She’s gettin’ into her weddin’ things and falderals for the photogrypher,” said Barney. “She had ’em off once, but the photogrypher’s just come, and he’s puttin’ up his things in the front garden. I sez to Marney—”

      “You’re a talkative old gentleman,” said Peter grimly. “Send Emanuel through. Do you want to see him, Johnny?”

      John Gray rose.

      “No,” he said. “I’ll wander through your alleged rosary. I want nothing to remind me of The Awful Place, thank you.”

      Johnny had disappeared through an opening of the box hedge at the lower end of the lawn when Barney returned with the visitor.

      Mr. Emanuel Legge was a man below middle height, thin of body and face, grey and a little bald. On his nose perched a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. He stood for a second or two surveying the scene, his chin lifted, his thin lips drawn in between his teeth. His attire was shabby, a steel chain served as a watchguard, and, as if to emphasise the rustiness of his wrinkled suit, he wore boots that were patently new and vividly yellow. Hat in hand, he waited, his eyes slowly sweeping the domain of his enemy, until at last they came to rest upon his host.

      It was Peter Kane who broke the deadly silence.

      “Well, Emanuel? Come over and sit down.”

      Legge moved slowly toward his host. “Quite a swell place, Peter. Everything of the best, eh? Trust you! Still got old Barney, I see. Has he reformed too? That’s the word, ain’t it – ‘reformed’?”

      His voice was thin and complaining. His pale blue eyes blinked coldly at the other.

      “He doesn’t go thieving any more, if that is what you mean,” said Peter shortly, and a look of pain distorted the visitor’s face.

      “Don’t use that word; it’s low—”

      “Let me take your hat.” Peter held out his hand, but the man drew his away.

      “No, thanks. I promised a young friend of mine that I wouldn’t lose anything while I was here. How long have you been at this place, Peter?”

      “About fourteen years.”

      Peter sat down, and the unwelcome guest followed his example, pulling his chair round so that he faced the other squarely.

      “Ah!” he said thoughtfully. “Living very comfortable, plenty to eat, go out and come in when you like. Good way of spending fourteen years. Better than having the key on you four o’clock in the afternoon. Princetown’s the same old place – oh, I forgot you’d never been there.”

      “I’ve motored through,” said Peter coolly, deliberately, and knew that he had touched a raw place before the lips of the man curled back in a snarl.

      “Oh,