THE WHODUNIT COLLECTION: British Murder Mysteries (15 Novels in One Volume). Charles Norris Williamson

faculty on occasions of obliterating himself.

      Yet he was nevertheless keeping a keen vigil on the "con "man. It was as well to be sure and Cincinnati's heart might yet fail him.

      He emerged into visibility again under the light of the corner public-house in Levoine Street. The two loafers were still at their everlasting game of dominoes and one turned an incautious look upon him. Menzies was fumbling with his shoelace. He saw the "con" man's guide trip and lurch heavily opposite one of the houses. A moment later Cincinnati was rapping at the door. It opened at last and he stood in colloquy with someone unseen for a while. Then he stepped inside and the door closed.

      The chief inspector walked to the private bar and ordered a Scotch and soda, which he drank slowly. Once he looked at his watch and answered absently the barman's comment on the weather. In Magersfontein Road, Upper Tooting, the apathy of one of its prominent horticulturists to weather conditions might have been set down as an affected eccentricity. Something worse might have been thought of a churchwarden who, with bowler hat tilted at the back of his head, stood sipping whisky and soda at the bar of the low class East End public-house. But Menzies had forgotten that he was either a churchwarden or a gardener.

      Twice more he looked at his watch and a slight frown bit into his forehead. Never too ready to put implicit confidence in a crook, he was wondering if Cincinnati had put the double cross on him.

      There was in point of fact no justification for these doubts. Cincinnati Red was feeling too sore with Ling to dream of playing false with the police. The door had been opened to him by no other than Mrs. Buttle herself, who stood determinedly in the doorway and scrutinised him with a stare in which there was no recognition.

      "Well?" she demanded with some asperity and an unnecessary loudness. "What do you want?"

      Cincinnati smiled pleasantly upon her and leaning forward spoke in a low voice. "Is Mr. Ling in? No, no "he raised a deprecating hand as he saw a denial forming on her lips. "I'm a pal of his. You tell him that Cincinnati Red is here and wants to pass him a word. Say the little trouble last night was all a misunderstanding and I've come to clear it up and put him. wise to one or two things."

      She appraised him grudgingly for a while. "I don't know nothin' of any Ling," she grumbled loudly. "I'm a honest, 'ard-workin' woman and I ain't no use for blokes what comes talking riddles to me."

      She made as if to close the door and for the fraction of a second her face was under the full rays of the street lamp. His foot strayed absently over the lintel. It was part of his profession to be a shrewd judge of faces and in that respect there were few men, even at the Yard itself, who could have taught him anything.

      "So it's you, Gwennie," he said quietly. "I might have guessed it. You'd better let me come in."

      She dropped her cockney accent instantly and a wry smile showed on her face. "Yes, sonny, it's me," she said. "How did you get on to it?"

      "Your eyes," he said succinctly. "Can I come in now?"

      She laughed. "Say, don't you think you've got a gall? Ling is gunning for you."

      Cincinnati went a shade paler. The recollection of the detective cordon around the neighbourhood, however, gave him confidence. He returned her laugh. "I'm not a piker, Gwennie. A little heart-to-heart talk with Ling or you'll put that all right. I was run right on to it, Gwennie. I couldn't help myself."

      "Come right in," she said genially.

      He followed her without hesitation and she took him up the creaking stairs into a little unused room bare of furniture. "How did you know where we were?" she demanded. "Did Ling tell you?"

      "Sure!" he agreed nonchalantly and instantly he saw the trap into which he had fallen. It was wildly improbable that in the circumstances of their last meeting Ling would have told him anything of this retreat. It was a mistake unpardonable in a man who made his living by his wits, but to try to retrieve it would be even worse.

      "I'll go and tell Stewart you're here," she said swiftly. "You won't mind waiting a minute."

      He did mind. He minded very much. Gwennie Lyne was altogether too complacent in accepting his visit. He knew that she was certain that he was playing the game of their antagonists and the thought of the police cordon was not quite so comforting. He had learned part of what he had set out to know. She was in the house and the probability was that Ling was also. He was unlikely to get any further chances of making sure and he wished fervently that he could see an opportunity of carrying his information back to Menzies. Did Gwennie know or guess that the place was surrounded? Did she think that this was merely a reconnoitring expedition or a reconnaissance in force? He had been a fool, he reflected, to so weakly fall in with Weir Menzies' suggestion. Of course, the police wouldn't care what happened to him. They were using him as a cat's-paw to test the hot chestnuts before drawing them out of the fire.

      He had calculated on the readiness of his wits to extricate himself from any dilemma in which he might find himself placed and now his blunder had exposed him. He could only wait on events. He assented quietly and she left the room.

      There ensued a nerve-racking period of waiting. His ears were strained to catch the slightest sound and he could hear movements below. In that room where he could meet anyone who entered face to face he felt comparatively safe. But his imagination played tricks when he contemplated the possibility of creeping downstairs and so into the open street. On the dark staircase or in the gloomy passage Ling might be waiting. His nerve was going and he dared not risk it. The window looked out, as far as he could see in the blackness, on a bleak prospect of tiny back yards, and after a sombre inspection he decided that there was no escape that way.

      The house grew unnaturally quiet and his waning courage began to return to him. There was a possibility, after all, that his former friends had been as badly scared by his arrival as a spy as he was by the knowledge that they had penetrated his purpose. Very likely Gwennie Lyne had left him there while she and her confederate quietly slipped away. If so, they must have already fallen into the hands of the police, and Menzies and his detectives would be in the house at any moment.

      He picked a candle off the mantelpiece and opened the door. At once he became aware of a determined and incessant rapping below. Somewhere near him he heard eomeone stir, and promptly blew out the light and waited with the door an inch or two open. There was a swish of skirts on the landing and he heard light footsteps descend the creaky stairs. Apparently the front door had been very securely fastened since he had arrived, for he heard the withdrawing of many bolts and the rattle of a chain. Then a soft, guttural voice.

      "Goot evening, miss. I yoost thought I would come along to see how my patient was brogressing."

Chapter XXV

       Table of Contents

      It was not exactly what Cincinnati Red had expected. Nor did he anticipate the low, musical voice that answered. He had assumed that Gwennie Lyne was the only woman in the house and somewhat impatiently he waited for developments.

      "Oh, yes. I wasn't expecting you, doctor, but I am glad you called," he heard someone saying. "Will you come up? He is asleep."

      He wedged himself against the crack of the door. Who was asleep? Was it Ling? Why should he need a doctor, anyway?

      Apart from these problems he had a sense of relief. Even if any designs were contemplated against him they would scarcely be carried out with the doctor in the house. What was to prevent him walking boldly out behind the visitor when he went. He heard the woman and the man pass by him on the landing. Then a splash of light showed that they had entered the room opposite.

      He crept gently out and stooped to the keyhole of the room into which they had vanished. Within his line of sight there came a vision of the back of a frockcoated man stooping over someone laying beneath a clutter of bedclothes in the corner. A girl was holding a lamp to light the doctor's examination. Cincinnati caught his breath as he saw her features and he remembered her as the girl Hallett