Malcolm Sage, Detective

"Easy!" The exclamation burst involuntarily from the inspector.

"You supplied me with a large scale-map showing the exact spot whereeach of the previous maimings had taken place. I drew a square toembrace the whole. Lines drawn diagonally from corner to corner gaveme the centre of gravity."

"But – " began the inspector.

Ignoring the interruption Malcolm Sage continued.

"A man committing a series of crimes from a given spot was bound tospread his operations over a fairly wide area in order to minimisethe chance of discovery. The longer the period and the larger thenumber of comes, the greater the chance of his being locatedsomewhere near the centre of his activities."

"Well, I'm damned!" remarked Sir John for the second time. Thensuddenly turning to Inspector Wensdale, "Dammit!" he exploded, "whydidn't you think of that?"

"There was, of course, the chance of his striking in anotherdirection," continued Malcolm Sage, digging into the bowl of hispipe with a penknife, "so I placed the men in such a way that if hedid so he was bound to be seen."

Inspector Wensdale continued to gaze at him, eager to hear more.

"But what was that you said about race-memory?" Sir John had quieteddown considerably since Malcolm Sage had begun his explanation.

"I should describe it as a harking back to an earlier phase. It isto the mind what atavism is to the body. In breeding, forinstance" – Malcolm Sage looked across to Sir John – "you find thatan offspring will manifest characteristics, or a taint, that is notto be found in either sire or dam."

Sir John nodded.

"Well, race-memory is the same thing in regard to the mental plane,a sort of subconscious wave of reminiscence. In Callice's case itwas in all probability the memory of some sacrificial rite of hisancestors centuries ago."

"A case of heredity."

"Broadly speaking, yes. At the full moon this particular tribe, whose act Callice has reproduced, was in the habit of slaughteringsome beast, or beasts, and drinking the blood, probably with theidea of absorbing their strength or their courage. Possibly thesurroundings at Hempdon were similar to those where the act ofsacrifice was committed in the past.

"It must be remembered that Callice was an ascetic, and consequentlyhighly subjective. Therefore when the wave of reminiscence istaken in conjunction with the surroundings, the full moon andhis high state of subjectivity, it is easy to see that materialconsiderations might easily be obliterated. That is why I watchedthe back entrance to his lodgings."

"And all the time we were telling him our plans," murmured theinspector half to himself.

"Yes, and he would go out hunting himself," said Sir John. "Damnfunny, I call it. Anyway, he'll get seven years at least."

"When he awakens he will remember nothing about it. You cannotpunish a man for a subconscious crime."

Sir John snorted indignantly; but Inspector Wensdale nodded his headslowly and regretfully.

"Anyway, I owe you five hundred pounds," said Sir John to Malcolm

Sage; "and, dammit! it's worth it," he added.

Malcolm Sage shrugged his shoulders as he rose to go.

"I was sorry to have to hit him," he said regretfully, "but I wasafraid of that knife. A man can do a lot of damage with a thing likethat. That's why I told you not to let your men attempt to take him,Wensdale."

"How did you know what sort of knife it was?" asked the inspector.

"Oh! I motored down here, and the car broke down. Incidentally Imade a lot of acquaintances, including Callice's patrol-leader, abright lad. He told me a lot of things about Callice and his ways. Aremarkable product the boy scout," he added. "Kipling calls him 'thefriend of all the world.'"

Sir John looked across at Inspector Wensdale, who was stronglytempted to wink.

"Don't think too harshly of Callice," said Malcolm Sage as he shookhands with Sir John. "It might easily have been you or I, had webeen a little purer in mind and thought."

And with that he passed out of the room with Inspector Wensdalefollowed by Sir John Hackblock, who was endeavouring to interpretthe exact meaning of the remark.

"They said he was a clever devil," he muttered as he returned to thelibrary after seeing his guests off, "and, dammit! they were right."

CHAPTER VI THE STOLEN ADMIRALTY MEMORANDUM

I

"Well," cried Tims, one Saturday night, as he pushed open thekitchen door of the little flat he occupied over the garage. "How'sthe cook, the stove, and the supper?"

"I'm busy," said Mrs. Tims, a little, fair woman, with blue eyes, animpertinent nose, and the inspiration of neatness in her dress, asshe altered the position of a saucepan on the stove and put twoplates into the oven to warm.

This was the invariable greeting between husband and wife. Tims wentup behind her, gripped her elbows to her side, and kissed hernoisily.

"I told you I was busy," she said.

"You did, Emmelina," he responded. "I heard you say so, and how'shis Nibs?"

The last remark was addressed to an object that was crawling towardshim with incoherent cries and gurgles of delight. Stooping down,Tims picked up his eighteen-months-old son and held him aloft, chuckling and mouthing his glee.

"You'll drop him one of these days," said Mrs. Tims, "and thenthere'll be a pretty hullaballoo."

"Well, he's fat enough to bounce," was the retort. "Ain't you,

Jimmy?"

Neither Tims nor Mrs. Tims seemed to be conscious that withoutvariations these same remarks had been made night after night, weekafter week, month after month.

"How's Mr. Sage?" was the question with which Mrs. Tims alwaysfollowed the reference to the bouncing of Jimmy.

"Like Johnny Walker, still going strong," glibly came the reply, just as it came every other night. "He was asking about you to-day,"added Tims.

"About me?" Mrs. Tims turned, all attention, her cooking for thetime forgotten.

"Yes, wanted to know when I was going to divorce you."

"Don't be silly, Jim," she cried. "What did he say, really now?" sheadded as she turned once more to the stove.

"Oh! he just asked if you were well," replied Tims, more interestedin demonstrating with the person of his son how an aeroplane leftthe ground than in his wife's question.

"Anything else?" enquired Mrs. Tims, prodding a potato with a forkto see if it was done.

Tims was not deceived by the casual tone in which the question wasasked. He was wont to say that, if his wife wanted his back teeth, she would get them.

"Nothing, my dear, only to ask if his Nibs was flourishin'," andwith a gurgle of delight the aeroplane soared towards the ceiling.

Mrs. Tims had not forgotten the time when Malcolm Sage visited herseveral times when she was ill with pneumonia. She never tired oftelling her friends of his wonderful knowledge of household affairs.He had talked to her of cooking, of childish ailments, of shopping,in a way that had amazed her. His knowledge seemed universal. He hadexplained to her among other things how cracknel biscuits were madeand why croup was so swift in its action.

Tims vowed that the Chief had done her more good than the doctor, and from that day Malcolm Sage had occupied chief place in Mrs.Tims's valhalla.

"Quaint sort o' chap, the Chief," Tims would remark sometimes inconnection with some professional episode.

"Pity you're not as quaint," would flash back the retort from Mrs.Tims, whose conception of loyalty was more literal than that of herhusband.

Supper finished and his Nibs put to bed, Tims proceeded to enjoy hispipe and evening paper, whilst Mrs. Tims got out her sewing. Fromtime to time Tims's eyes would wander over towards the telephone inthe corner.

Finally he folded up the paper, and proceeded to knock out the ashesfrom his pipe preparatory to going to bed. His eyes took a last lookat the telephone just as Mrs. Tims glanced up.

"Don't sit there watching that telephone," she cried, "anyone wouldthink you were wanting – "

"Brrrrrrr – brrrrrrr – brrrrrr," went the bell.

"Now perhaps you're happy," cried Mrs. Tims as he rose to answer thecall, whilst she put on the kettle to make hot coffee to fill thethermos flasks without which she never allowed the car to go out atnight. It was her tribute to "the Chief."

II

In his more expansive moments Malcolm Sage would liken himself to ageneral practitioner in a diseased-infected district. It is truethat there was no speaking-tube, with its terrifying whistle, a fewfeet from his head; but the telephone by his bedside was alwaysliable to arouse him from sleep at any hour of the night.

As Tims had folded up his newspaper with a view to bed, Malcolm Sagewas removing his collar before the mirror on his dressing-table, when his telephone bell rang. Rogers, his man, lookedinterrogatingly at his master, who, shaking his head, passed over tothe instrument and took up the receiver.

"Yes, this is Malcolm Sage – Speaking – Yes." Then for a few minuteshe listened with an impassive face. "I'll be off within tenminutes – The Towers, Holdingham, near Guildford – I understand."

While he was speaking, Rogers, a little sallow-faced man withfish-like eyes and expressionless face, had moved over to the othertelephone and was droning in a monotonous, uninflected voice, "Chiefwants car in five minutes."

It was part of Malcolm Sage's method to train his subordinates torealise the importance of intelligent and logical inference.

Returning to the dressing-table, Malcolm Sage took up another collar, slipped a tie between the fold, and proceeded to put it on.

As he did so he gave instructions to Rogers, who, note-book in hand, and with an expression of indifference that seemed to say "Kismet,"silently recorded his instructions.

"My address will be The Towers, Holdingham, near Guildford. Be onthe look-out for messages."

Without a word Rogers closed the book and, picking up a suit-case, which was always ready for emergencies, he left the room. Twominutes later Malcolm Sage followed and, without a word, entered theclosed car that had just drawn up before his flat in the Adelphi.

Rogers returned to the flat, switched the telephone on to his ownroom, and prepared himself for the night, whilst Malcolm Sage, having eaten a biscuit and drunk some of Mrs. Tims's hot coffee, layback to sleep as the car rushed along the Portsmouth road.

III

In the library at The Towers three men were seated, their faceslined and drawn as if some great misfortune had suddenly descendedupon them; yet their senses were alert. They were listening.

"He ought to be here any minute now," said Mr. Llewellyn John, the

Prime Minister, taking out his watch for the hundredth time.

Sir Lyster Grayne, First Lord of the Admiralty, shook his head.

"He should do it in an hour," said Lord Beamdale, the Secretary of

War, "if he's got a man who knows the road."

"Sage is sure – " began Sir Lyster; then he stopped abruptly, andturned in the direction of the further window.

A soft tapping as of a finger-nail upon a pane of glass was clearlydistinguishable. It ceased for a few seconds, recommenced, thenceased again.

Mr. Llewellyn John looked first at Sir Lyster and then on towardswhere Lord Beamdale sat, heavy of frame and impassive of feature.

Sir Lyster rose and walked quickly over to the window. As heapproached the tapping recommenced. Swinging back the curtain hedisappeared into the embrasure.

The others heard the sound of the window being raised and thenclosed again. A moment later Malcolm Sage appeared, followed by SirLyster, who once more drew the curtain.

At the sight of Malcolm Sage, Mr. Llewellyn John's features relaxedfrom their drawn, tense expression. A look of relief flashedmomentarily into Lord Beamdale's fish-like eyes.

"Thank God you've come, Sage!" cried Mr. Llewellyn John, with a sighof relief as he grasped Malcolm Sage's hand as if it had been alifebelt and he a drowning man. "I think you have met LordBeamdale," he added.

Malcolm Sage bowed to the War Minister, then with great deliberationremoved his overcoat, carefully folded it, and placed it upon achair, laying his cap on top. He then selected a chair at the tablethat gave him a clear view of the faces of the three Ministers, andsat down.

"Why did you come to the window?" enquired Sir Lyster, as he resumedhis own seat. "Did you know this was the library?"

"I saw a crack of light between the curtains," replied Malcolm Sage."It may be desirable that no one should know I have been here," headded.

"Something terrible has happened, Sage," broke in the Prime Minister, his voice shaking with excitement. He had with difficulty containedhimself whilst Malcolm Sage was taking off his overcoat andexplaining his reason for entering by the window. "It's – it's – "His voice broke.

"Perhaps Sir Lyster will tell me, or Lord Beamdale," suggested

Malcolm Sage, looking from one to the other.

Lord Beamdale shook his head.

"Just a bare outline, Sir Lyster," said Malcolm Sage, spreading outhis fingers before him.

Slowly, deliberately, and with perfect self-possession, Sir Lysterexplained what had happened.

"The Prime Minister and Lord Beamdale came down with me on Thursdaynight to spend the weekend," he said. "Incidentally we were todiscuss a very important matter connected with this country's er – foreign policy." The hesitation was only momentary. "Lord Beamdalebrought with him a document of an extremely private nature. This Ihad sent to him earlier in the week for consideration and comment.

"If that document were to get to a certain Embassy in London no onecan foretell the calamitous results. It might even result in anotherwar, if not now certainly later. It was, I should explain, of aprivate and confidential nature, and consequently quite franklyexpressed."

"And you must remember – " began Mr. Llewellyn John excitedly.

"One moment, sir," said Malcolm Sage quietly, without looking upfrom an absorbed contemplation of a bronze letter-weight fashionedin the form of a sphinx.

Mr. Llewellyn John sank back into his chair, and Sir Lyster resumed.

"Just over an hour and a half ago, that is to say soon after eleveno'clock, it was discovered that the document in question was missing, and in its place had been substituted a number of sheets of blankpaper."

"Unless it's found, Sage," cried Mr. Llewellyn John, jumping up fromhis chair in his excitement, "the consequences are too awful tocontemplate."

For a few seconds he strode up and down the room, then returning tohis chair, sank back into its comfortable depths.

"Where was the document kept?" enquired Malcolm Sage, his long, sensitive fingers stroking the back of the sphinx.

"In the safe," replied Sir Lyster, indicating with a nod a smallsafe let into the wall.

"You are in the habit of using it for valuable documents?" queried

Malcolm Sage.

"As a matter of fact very seldom. It is mostly empty," was the reply.

"Why?"

"I have a larger safe in my dressing-room, in which I keep my papers.During the day I occasionally use this to save going up and downstairs."

"Where do you keep the key?"

"When there is anything in the safe I always carry it about withme."

"And at other times?"

"Sometimes in a drawer in my writing-table," said Sir Lyster; "butgenerally I have it on me."

"When was the document put into the safe?"

"At a quarter to eight to-night, just as the second dressing-gongwas sounding."

"And you yourself put it in, locked the door, and have retained thekey ever since?" Malcolm Sage had exhausted the interest of thesphinx and was now drawing diagrams with his forefinger upon themorocco surface of the table.

Sir Lyster nodded.

"I put the key in the pocket of my evening vest when I changed," hesaid. "After the other guests had retired, the Prime Minister raiseda point that necessitated reference to the document itself. It wasthen I discovered the substitution."

"But for that circumstance the safe would not have been opened untilwhen?" queried Malcolm Sage.

"Late to-night, when I should have transferred the packet to thesafe in my dressing-room."

"Would you have examined the contents?"

"No. It is my rule to cut adrift from official matters fromdinner-time on Saturday until after breakfast on Monday. It was onlyin deference to the Prime Minister's particular wish that we referredto the document to-night."

"I take it that the rule you mention is known to your guests andservants?"

"Certainly."

"There is no doubt that it was the document itself that you put inthe safe?"

"None; the Prime Minister and Lord Beamdale saw me do it."

"No doubt whatever," corroborated Mr. Llewellyn John, whilst Lord

Beamdale wagged his head like a mandarin.

"Does anyone else know that it is missing?" asked Malcolm Sage aftera short pause.

Sir Lyster shook his head.

"Only we three; and, of course, the thief," he added.

Malcolm Sage nodded. He had tired of the diagrams, and now satstroking the back of his head.

"Has anyone left the house since the discovery; that is, as far asyou know?" he queried at length.

"No one," said Sir Lyster.

"The servants, of course, have access to this room?"

"Yes; but only Walters, my butler, is likely to come here in theevening, except, of course, my secretary."

"Where does he dine?"

"Miss Blair," corrected Sir Lyster, "always takes her meals in herown sitting-room, where she works. It is situated at the back of thehouse on the ground floor."

Again Malcolm Sage was silent, this time for a longer period.

"So far as you know, then," he said at length, addressing Sir Lyster,"only three people in the house were acquainted with the existenceof the document; you, the Prime Minister, and Lord Beamdale."

Sir Lyster inclined his head.

"You are certain of that?" Malcolm Sage looked up swiftly and keenly."Your secretary and Lady Grayne, for instance, they knew nothingabout it?"

"Nothing; of that I am absolutely certain," replied Sir Lystercoldly.

"And the nature of the document?" enquired Malcolm Sa'ge.

Sir Lyster looked across at Mr. Llewellyn John, who turnedinterrogatingly to Lord Beamdale.

"I am afraid it is of too private a nature to – " he hesitated.

"If you require me to trace something," said Malcolm Sage evenly,"you must at least tell me what that something is."

"It is a document which – " began Lord Beamdale, then he, too, paused.

"But, surely, Sage," broke in Mr. Llewellyn John, "is it notnecessary to know the actual contents?"

"If you had lost something and would not tell me whether it was adog or a diamond, would you expect me to find it?"

"But – " began Mr. Llewellyn John.

"I'm afraid we are wasting time, gentlemen," said Malcolm Sage, rising. "I would suggest Scotland Yard. The official police mustwork under any handicap imposed. I regret that I am unable to doso."

He walked across to the chair where lay his cap and coat.

"Now, Sage," said Mr. Llewellyn John tactfully, "you mustn't let usdown, you really mustn't." Then turning to Sir Lyster, he said, "Ican see his point. If he doesn't know the nature of the document, hecannot form a theory as to who is likely to have taken it. Perhapsunder the circumstances, Grayne, we might take Sage into ourconfidence; at least to such extent as he thinks necessary."

Sir Lyster made no response, whilst Lord Beamdale, whose economy inwords had earned for him the sobriquet of "Lord Dumbeam," sat withimpassive face.

"Perhaps I can help you," said Malcolm Sage, still standing by thechair on which lay his cap and coat. "At the end of every great warthe Plans Departments of the Admiralty and the War Office are busypreparing for the next war. I suggest that this document was theAdmiralty draft of a plan of operations to be put into force in theevent of war occurring between this country and an extremelyfriendly power. It was submitted to the War Office for criticism andcomment as far as land-operations were concerned. Another power, unfriendly to the friendly power, would find in this document a veryvaluable red-herring to draw across the path of its ownperplexities."

"Good heavens!" cried Mr. Llewellyn John, starting upright in hischair. "How on earth did you know?"

"It seems fairly obvious," said Malcolm Sage, as he returned to hischair and resumed his stroking of the sphinx's back. "Who else knewof the existence of the document?" he enquired.

"No one outside the Admiralty and the War – " Sir Lyster stoppedsuddenly.

From the corridor, apparently just outside the library door, camethe sound of a suppressed scream, followed by a bump against thewoodwork.

Rising and moving swiftly across the room, Sir Lyster threw open thedoor, revealing a gap of darkness into which a moment later slid twofigures, a pretty, fair-haired girl and a wizened little Japanesewith large round spectacles and an automatic smile.

"I'm so sorry, Sir Lysier," faltered the girl, as she steppedtimidly into the room, "but I was frightened. Someone had switchedoff the lights and I ran into – " She turned to the Japanese, whostood deprecating and nervous on the threshold.

"I lose my passage," he said, baring his teeth still further; "I goto find cigarette-case of my master. He leave it in beelyard-room. Igo – "

With a motion of his hand, Sir Lyster dismissed the man, who slippedaway as if relieved at getting off so lightly.

"You are up late, Miss Blair," he said coolly, turning to the girl.

"I'm so sorry," she said; "but Lady Grayne gave me some letters, andthere was so much copying for you that – " She paused, then addednervously, "I didn't know it was so late."

"You had better go to bed, now," said Sir Lyster.

With a charming smile she passed out, Sir Lyster closing the doorbehind her. As he turned into the room his eye caught sight of thechair in which Malcolm Sage had been sitting.

"Where is Mr. Sage?" He looked from Mr. Llewellyn John to Lord

Beamdale.

As he spoke Malcolm Sage appeared from the embrasure of the windowthrough which he had entered, and where he had taken cover as SirLyster rose to open the door.

"You see, Sage is not supposed to be here," explained Mr. Llewellyn

John.

"Your secretary has an expensive taste in perfume," remarked MalcolmSage casually, as he resumed his seat. "It often characterises anintensely emotional nature," he added musingly.

"Emotional nature!" repeated Sir Lyster. "As a matter of fact she isextremely practical and self-possessed. You were saying – " heconcluded with the air of a man who dismisses a trifling subject infavour of one of some importance.

"Diplomatists should be trained physiognomists," murmured Malcolm

Sage. "A man's mouth rarely lies, a woman's never."

Sir Lyster stared.

"Now," continued Malcolm Sage, "I should like to know who is stayinghere."

Sir Lyster proceeded to give some details of the guests and servants.The domestic staff comprised twenty-one, and none had been in SirLyster's employ for less than three years. They were all excellentservants, of irreproachable character, who had come to him with goodreferences. Seventeen of the twenty-one lived in the house. Therewere also four lady's-maids and five men-servants attached to theguests. Among the men-servants was Sir Jeffrey Trawler's Japanesevalet.

There was something in Sir Lyster's voice as he mentioned this factthat caused Malcolm Sage to look up at him sharply.

"The man you have just seen," Sir Lyster explained. "He has been thecause of some little difficulty in the servants'-hall. They objectto sitting down to meals with a Chinaman, as they call him.

"He seems intelligent?" remarked Malcolm Sage casually.

"On the contrary, he is an extremely stupid creature," was the reply.

"He is continually losing himself. Only yesterday morning I myself found him wandering about the corridor leading to my own bedroom.

Walters has also mentioned the matter to me."

Sir Lyster then passed on to the guests. They comprised Mrs. Selton,an aunt of Sir Lyster; Sir Jeffrey and Lady Trawlor, old friends oftheir hostess; Lady Whyndale and her two daughters. There were alsoMr. Gerald Nash, M. P., and Mr. and Mrs. Richard Winnington, oldfriends of Sir Lyster and Lady Grayne.