Malcolm Sage, Detective

Lord Beamdale nodded his agreement with the reasoning.

"Therefore," continued Malcolm Sage, "the theft must have beenplanned by someone who knew about the document before it came here, and furthermore knew that it was to be here at a certain time. Toconfirm this hypothesis we have the remarkable circumstances thatthe blank paper substituted for the original document was, inquality and the number of sheets, identical with that of thedocument itself."

"Good," ejaculated Lord Beamdale, himself a keen mathematician.

Mr. Llewellyn John and Sir Lyster exchanged glances.

"It was almost, but not quite, obvious that the exchange had beeneffected by a woman."

"How obvious?" enquired Mr. Llewellyn John.

"'Few women pass unperfumed to the grave,'" quoted Malcolm Sage. "Ithink it was Craddock who said that," he added, and Mr. LlewellynJohn made a mental note of the phrase.

"The handle of the safe door was corrugated, and the lacquer hadworn off, leaving it rough to the touch. When I kneeled down beforethe safe it was not to examine the metal work, but to see if thethief had left a scent."

"A scent?" repeated Sir Lyster.

"On the handle of the door there was a distinct trace of perfume, very slight, but I have a keen sense of smell, although a greatsmoker. On the document itself there was also evidence of a ratherexpensive perfume, not unlike that used by Miss Blair. Furthermore,it was bent in a rather peculiar manner, which might have resultedfrom its being carried in the belt of a woman's frock. It might, ofcourse, have been mere chance," he added; "but the envelope did notshow a corresponding bend."

Again Lord Beamdale nodded appreciatively.

"Although several people have had an opportunity of taking a waximpression of the key, the most likely were Miss Blair and Walters – that, however, was a side issue."

"How?" enquired Sir Lyster.

"Because primarily we were concerned with making the criminalhimself or herself divulge the secret."

"That's why you would not allow the loss to be made known," broke in

Mr. Llewellyn John.

"The thief," continued Malcolm Sage, with a slight inclination ofhis head, "would in all probability seize the first safe opportunityof getting rid of the plunder."

"But did you not suspect the Japanese?" broke in Lord Beamdale.

"For the moment I ruled him out," said Malcolm Sage, "as I could notsee how it was possible for him to know about the existence of thedocument in question, and furthermore, as he had been in the houseless than two days, there was no time for him to get a duplicatekey."

"What did you do then?" queried Sir Lyster.

"I motored back to town, broke in upon the Postmaster-general'sfirst sleep, set on foot enquiries at the Admiralty and War Office,in the meantime arranging for The Towers to be carefully watched."Malcolm Sage paused for a moment; then as none of his hearers spokehe continued:

"I had a number of people in the neighbourhood – motorists, cyclists, and pedestrians. No one could have left the house and groundswithout being seen.

"Miss Blair found the morning irresistible, and took an early spinon her bicycle to Odford, where she posted a packet in a pillar-boxsituated in a street that was apparently quite empty."

"And you secured it?" enquired Mr. Lewellyn John, leaning forwardeagerly.

"I'm afraid I quite spoilt the local postmaster's Sunday byrequesting that a pillar-box should be specially cleared, andproducing an authority from the Postmaster-general. After he hadtelegraphed to head-quarters and received a reply confirming theletter, he reluctantly acquiesced."

"And it was addressed to this man Cressit?" enquired Sir Lyster.

"Yes. He is a temporary staff-clerk in the Plans Department.Incidentally he is something of a Don Juan, and the cost of livinghas increased considerably, as you know, sir," he added, turning tothe Prime Minister.

Mr. Llewellyn John smiled wanly. It was his political "cross," thiscost-of-living problem.

"And what shall we do with him?" enquired Sir Lyster. "Thescoundrel," he added.

"I have almost done with him as a matter of fact," said Malcolm Sage.

"Done with him?" exclaimed Lord Beamdale.

"I sent him a telegram in Miss Blair's name to be at Odford Stationto-night at seven: then I kidnapped him."

"Good heavens, Sage I What do you mean?" cried Mr. Llewellyn John, with visions of the Habeas Corpus Act and possible questions in theHouse, which he hated.

"We managed to get him to enter my car, and then we went throughhim – that is a phrase from the crook-world. We found upon him themarriage certificate, and later I induced him to confess. I am nowgoing to take him back to my office, secure his finger-prints andphysical measurements, which will be of interest at Scotland Yard."

"But we are not going to prosecute," said Mr. Llewellyn Johnanxiously.

"Mr. Paul Cressit will have forty-eight hours in which to leave thecountry," said Malcolm Sage evenly. "He will not return, becauseScotland Yard will see that he does not do so. There will probablybe an application to you, sir," Malcolm Sage continued, turning toMr. Llewellyn John, "to confirm what I tell them."

"Excellent!" cried Mr. Llewellyn John. "I congratulate you, Sage.

You have done wonders."

"But I failed to understand your saying that you would be here thismorning," said Sir Lyster, "and under an assumed name with – "

"A foreign accent," suggested Malcolm Sage. "The thief might havebeen an old hand at the game, and too clever to fall into a ratherobvious trap. In that case I might have been forced, as a foreigner,to salute the hands of all the ladies in the house. I learnt toclick my heels years ago in Germany." Again there was a suspiciousmovement at the corners of Malcolm Sage's mouth.

"But – " began Sir Lyster.

"To identify the scent?" broke in Mr. Llewellyn John.

Malcolm Sage inclined his read slightly.

"The Foreign Office messengers?" queried Lord Beamdale.

"I decided that pedestrians and cyclists would do as well. I merelywanted the house watched. There were quite a number of casualties tocars and bicycles in the neighbourhood," he added dryly.

"But why did you cut us off from the telephone?" enquired Mr.

Llewellyn John.

"The accomplice might have got through, and I could afford to takeno risks."

"Well, you have done splendidly, Sage," said Mr. Llewellyn Johnheartily, "and we are all greatly obliged. By the way, there'sanother little problem awaiting you. Someone broke into the garagelast night and wrecked all the cars and bicycles – "

"Except two," said Malcolm Sage.

"Then you've heard." Mr. Llewellyn John looked at him in surprise.

"The man who did it is in my car outside with Cressit."

"You've got him as well?" cried Mr. Llewellyn John excitedly. "Sage, you're a miracle of sagacity," he added, again mentally noting thephrase.

"The missing pencils, floats, and pedals you will find on theleft-hand side of the drive about half way down, under a laurelbush," said Malcolm Sage quietly.

"And who is this fellow who did this scandalous thing?" demanded Sir

Lyster.

"My chauffeur."

"Your chauffeur!"

"I could not risk the thief having access to a fast car."

"But what if this fellow Cressit refuses to go?" enquired Lord

Beamdale.

"He won't," said Malcolm Sage grimly. "D.O.R.A. is still inoperation. I had to remind him of the fact."

Malcolm Sage picked up his hat and coat and walked towards the door.

"I must be going," he said. "I have still several things to attendto. You won't forget about the plunder from the garage?" he added.

"But what am I to do about Miss Blair?" asked Sir Lyster.

"That's a question I think you will find answered in the Gospel ofSt. Luke – the seventh chapter and I think the forty-seventh verse";and with that he was gone, leaving three Ministers gazing at oneanother in dumb astonishment.

Had a cynic been peeping into the library of The Towers a fewminutes later, he would have discovered three Cabinet Ministersbending over a New Testament, which Sir Lyster had fetched from hiswife's boudoir, and the words they read were: "Wherefore I say untothee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much."

"Strange," murmured Lord Beamdale, "very strange," and the othersknew that he was referring not to the text, or to the unhappy girl – but to Malcolm Sage.

"We are always surprised when we find Saul among the prophets,"remarked Mr. Llewellyn John, and he made a mental note of the phrase.It might do for the "Wee Frees."

CHAPTER VIII GLADYS NORMAN DINES WITH THOMPSON

I

"Tommy," remarked Miss Gladys Norman one day as Thompson entered herroom through the glass-panelled door, "have you ever thought what Ishall do fifty years hence?"

"Darn my socks," replied the practical Thompson.

"I mean," she proceeded with withering deliberation, "what willhappen when I can't do the hundred in ten seconds?"

Thompson looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"My cousin Will says that if you can't do the hundred yards in tenseconds you haven't an earthly," she explained. "It's been worryingme. What am I to do when I'm old and rheumaticky and the Chief doesthree on the buzzer? He's bound to notice it and he'll look."

Malcolm Sage's "look" was a slight widening of the eyes as he gazedat a delinquent. It was his method of conveying rebuke. That "look"would cause Thompson to swear earnestly under his breath for therest of the day, whilst on Gladys Norman it had several distincteffects, the biting of her lower lips, the snubbing of Thompson, themerciless banging of her typewriter, and a self-administered rebukeof "Gladys Norman, you're a silly little ass," being the mostnoticeable.

For a moment Thompson thought deeply, then with sudden inspirationhe said, "Why not move your table nearer his door?"

"What a brain!" she cried, regarding him with mock admiration. "Youmust have been waving it with Hindes' curlers. Yes," she added, "youmay take me out to dinner to-night, Tommy."

Thompson was in the act of waving his hat wildly over his head whenMalcolm Sage came out of his room. For the fraction of a second hepaused and regarded his subordinates.

"It's not another war, I hope," he remarked, and, without waitingfor a reply, he turned, re-entered his room and closed the door.

Gladys Norman collapsed over her typewriter, where with heavingshoulders she strove to mute her mirth with a ridiculous dab of pinkcambric.

Thompson looked crestfallen. He had turned just in time to see

Malcolm Sage re-enter his room.

Three sharp bursts on the buzzer brought Gladys Norman to her feet.There was a flurry of skirt, the flash of a pair of shapely ankles, and she disappeared into Malcolm Sage's room.

II

"It's a funny old world," remarked Gladys Norman that evening, asshe and Thompson sat at a sheltered table in a little Sohorestaurant.

"It's a jolly nice old world," remarked Thompson, looking up fromhis plate, "and this chicken is it."

"Chicken first; Gladys Norman also ran," she remarked scathingly.

Thompson grinned and returned to his plate.

"Why do you like the Chief, Tommy?" she demanded.

Thompson paused in his eating, resting his hands, still holdingknife and fork, upon the edge of the table. The suddenness of thequestion had startled him.

"If you must sit like that, at least close your mouth," she saidseverely.

Thompson replaced his knife and fork upon the plate.

"Well, why do you?" she queried.

"Why do I what?" he asked.

She made a movement of impatience. "Like the Chief, of course." Thenas he did not reply she continued: "Why does Tims like him, and theInnocent, and Sir James, and Sir John Dene, and the whole blessedlot of us? Why is it, Tommy, why?"

Thompson merely gaped, as if she had propounded some unanswerableriddle.

"Why is it?" she repeated. Then as he still remained silent sheadded, "There's no hurry, Tommy dear; just go on listening with yourmouth. I quite realise the compliment."

"I'm blessed if I know," he burst out at last. "I suppose it'sbecause he's 'M.S.,'" and he returned to his plate.

"Yes, but why is it?" she persisted, as she continued mechanicallyto crumble her bread. "That's what I want to know; why is it?"

Thompson looked at her a little anxiously. By nature he was inclinedto take things for granted, things outside his profession that is.

"It's a funny old world, Tommikins," she repeated at length, pickingup her knife and fork, "funnier for some than for others."

Thompson looked up with a puzzled expression on his face. There weretimes when he found Gladys Norman difficult to understand.

"For a girl, I mean," she added, as if that explained it.

Thompson still stared. The remark did not strike him as illuminating.

"It may be," she continued meditatively, "that I like doing thingsfor the Chief because he was my haven of refuge from a wicked world; but that doesn't explain why you and Tims – "

"Your haven of refuge!" repeated Thompson, making a gulp of amouthful, and once more laying down his knife and fork, as he lookedacross at her curiously.

"Before I went to the Ministry I had one or two rather beastlyexperiences." She paused as if mentally reviewing some unpleasantincident.

"Tell me, Gladys." Thompson was now all attention.

"Well, I once went to see a man in Shaftesbury Avenue who hadadvertised for a secretary. He was a funny old bean," she addedreminiscently, "all eyes and no waist, and more curious as towhether I lived alone, or with my people, than about my speeds. So Itold him my brother was a prize-fighter, and – "

"But you haven't got a brother," broke in Thompson.

"I told him that for the good of his soul, Tommy, and of the girlswho came after me," she added a little grimly.

"It was funny," she continued after a pause. "He didn't seem a biteager to engage me after that. Said my speeds (which I hadn't toldhim) were not good enough; but to show there was no ill-feeling hetried to kiss me at parting. So I boxed his ears, slung his owninkpot at him and came away. Oh! it's a great game, Tommy, playedslow," she added as an after-thought, and she hummed a snatch of apopular fox-trot.

"The swine!"

Thompson had just realised the significance of what he had heard.

There was an ugly look in his eyes.

"I then got a job at the Ministry of Economy and later at theMinistry of Supply, and the Chief lifted me out by my bobbed hairand put me into Department Z. That's why I call him my haven ofrefuge. See, dearest?"

"What's the name of the fellow in Shaftesbury Avenue?" demandedThompson, his thoughts centring round the incident she had justnarrated.

"Naughty Tommy," she cried, making a face at them, "Mustn't get angry andvicious. Besides," she added, "the Chief did for him."

"You told him?" cried Thompson incredulously, his interest stillkeener than his appetite.

"I did," she replied airily, "and he dropped a hint at Scotland Yard.I believe the gallant gentleman in Shaftesbury Avenue has somethingmore than a smack and an inky face to remember little Gladys by. Hedoesn't advertise for secretaries now."

Thompson gazed at her, admiration in his eyes.

"But that doesn't explain why I always want to please the Chief, does it?" she demanded. "In romance, the knight kills the villainfor making love to the heroine, and then gets down to the same dirtywork himself. Now the Chief ought to have been bursting withvolcanic fires of passion for me. He should have crushed me to hisbreast with merciless force, I beating against his chest-protectorwith my clenched fists. Finally I should have lain passive andunresisting in his arms, whilst he covered my eyes, ears, nose and'transformation' with fevered, passionate kisses; not pecks likeyours, Tommy; but the real thing with a punch in them."

"What on earth – " began Thompson, when she continued.

"There should have been a fearful tempest on the other side of hisribs. I should – "

"Don't talk rot, Gladys," broke in Thompson.

"I'm not talking rot," she protested. "I read it all in a novel thatsells by the million." Then after a moment's pause she continued:

"He saved me from the dragon; yet he doesn't even give me a box ofchocolates, and everybody in Whitehall knows that chocolates andkisses won the war. When I fainted for him and he carried me intohis room, he didn't kiss me even then."

"You wouldn't have known it if he had," was Thompson's comment.

"Oh! wouldn't I?" she retorted. "That's all you know about girls, Mr.

Funny Thompson."

He stared across at her, blinking his eyes in bewilderment.

"He doesn't take me out to dinner as other chiefs do," shecontinued; "yet I hop about like a linnet when he buzzes for me. Whyis it?"

She gazed across at Thompson challengingly.

A look of anxiety began to manifest itself upon his good-naturedfeatures. Psycho-analysis was not his strong point. In a vague wayhe began to suspect that Gladys Norman's devotion to Malcolm Sagewas not strictly in accordance with Trade Union principles.

"There, get on with your chicken, you poor dear," she laughed, andThompson, picking up his knife and fork, proceeded to eatmechanically. From time to time he glanced covertly across at Gladys.

"As to the Chief's looks," she continued, "his face is keen and taut, and he's a strong, silent man; yet can you see his eyes hungry andtempestuous, Tommy? I can't. Why is it," she demanded, "that when awoman writes a novel she always stunts the strong, silent man?"

Thompson shook his head, with the air of a man who has given upguessing.

"Imagine getting married to a strong, silent man," she continued,"with only his strength and his silence, and perhaps a cheapgramophone, to keep you amused in the evenings." She shuddered."No," she said with decision, "give me a regular old rattle-boxwithout a chin, like you, Tommy."

Mechanically Thompson's hand sought his chin, and Gladys laughed.

"Anyway, I'm not going to marry, in spite of the tubefurniture-posters. Uncle Jake says it's all nonsense to talk aboutmarriages being made in heaven; they're made in the Tottenham CourtRoad."

Thompson had, however, returned to his plate. In her present mood,Gladys Norman was beyond him. Realising the state of his mind, shecontinued:

"He's got a head like a pierrot's cap and it's as bald as afivepenny egg, when it ought to be beautifully rounded and coveredwith crisp curly hair. He wears glasses in front of eyes like bitsof slate, when they ought to be full of slumbrous passion. His jawis all right, only he doesn't use it enough; in books the strong, silent man is a regular old chin-wag, and yet I fall over myself toanswer his buzzer. Why it is, I repeat?" She looked across at himmischievously, enjoying the state of depression to which she hadreduced him.

Thompson merely shook his head.

"For all that," she continued, picking up her own knife and fork, which in the excitement of describing Malcolm Sage she had laid down,"for all that he would make a wonderful lover – once you could gethim started," and she laughed gleefully as if at some hidden joke.

Thompson gazed at her over a fork piled with food, which her remarkhad arrested half-way to his mouth.

"He's chivalrous," she continued. "Look at the way he always triesto help up the very people he has downed. It's just a game withhim – "

"No, it's not," burst out Thompson, through a mouthful of chickenand sauté potato.

She gave him a look of disapproval that caused him to swallowrapidly.

"The Chief doesn't look on it as a game," he persisted. "He's out tostop crime and – "

"But that's not the point," she interrupted. "What I want to know iswhy do I bounce off my chair like an india-rubber ball when hebuzzes?" she demanded relentlessly. "Why do I want to please him?Why do I want to kick myself when I make mistakes? Why – Oh! Tommy,"she broke off, "if you only had a brain as well as a stomach," andshe looked across at him reproachfully.

"Perhaps it's because he never complains," suggested Thompson, as heplaced his knife and fork at the "all clear" angle, and leaned backin his chair with a sigh of contentment.

"You don't complain, Tommy," she retorted; "but you could buzzyourself to blazes without getting me even to look up."

For fully a minute there was silence; Gladys Norman continued togaze down at the débris to which she had reduced her roll.

"No," she continued presently, "there is something else. I'venoticed the others; they're just the same." She paused, thensuddenly looking across at him she enquired, "What is loyalty,Tommy?"

"Standing up and taking off your hat when they play 'God Save the

King,'" he replied glibly.

She laughed, and deftly flicked a bread pill she had justmanufactured, catching Thompson beneath the left eye and causing himto blink violently.

"You're a funny old thing," she laughed. "You know quite well what Imean, only you're too stupid to realise it. Look at the Innocent – for him the Chief is the only man in all the world. Then there'sTims. He'd get up in the middle of the night and drive the Chief toblazes, and hang the petrol. Then there's you and me."

Thompson drew a cigarette-case from his pocket.

"I think I know why it is," she said, nodding her pretty headwisely. She paused, and as Thompson made no comment she continued: "It's because he's human, warm flesh and blood."

"But when I'm warm flesh and blood," objected Thompson, withcorrugated brow, "you tell me not to be silly."

"Your idea of warmth, my dear man, was learnt on the upper reachesof the Thames after dark," was the scathing retort.

"Yes, but – " he began, when she interrupted him.

"Look what he did for Miss Blair. Had her at the office and then – then – looked after her."

"And afterwards got her a job," remarked Thompson. "But that's justlike the Chief," he added.

"Where did you meet him first, Tommy?" she enquired, as she leanedforward slightly to light her cigarette at the match he held out toher.

"In a bath," was the reply, as Thompson proceeded to light his owncigarette.

"You're not a bit funny," she retorted.

"But it was," he persisted.

"Was what?"

"In a bath. He hadn't had one before and – "

"Not had a bath!" she cried. "If you try to pull my leg like that,

Tommy, you'll ladder my stockings."

"But I'm not," protested Thompson. "I met the Chief in a Turkishbath, and he went into the hottest room and crumpled, so I lookedafter him, and that's how I got to know him."

"Of course, you couldn't have happened to mention that it was aTurkish bath, Tommy, could you?" she said. "That wouldn't be youat all. But what makes him do things like he did for Miss Blair?"

"I suppose because he's the Chief," was Thompson's reply.

Gladys Norman sighed elaborately. "There are moments, JamesThompson," she said, "when your conversation is almost inspiring,"and she relapsed into silence.

For the last half-hour Thompson had been conscious of a feeling ofuneasiness. It had first manifested itself when he was engaged upona lightly grilled cutlet; had developed as he tackled the lowerjoint of a leg of chicken; and become an alarming certainty when hewas half-way through a plate of apple tart and custard. GladysNorman's interest in Malcolm Sage had become more than a secretarialone.

Mentally he debated the appalling prospect. By the time coffee wasfinished he had reached an acute stage of mental misery. Suddenlylife had become, not only tinged, but absolutely impregnated withwretchedness.

It was not until they had left the restaurant and were walking along

Shaftesbury Avenue that he summoned up courage to speak.

"Gladys," he said miserably, "you're not – " then he paused, notdaring to put into words his thought.

"He's so magnetic, so compelling," she murmured dreamily. "He knowsso much. Any girl might – "

She did not finish the sentence; but stole a glance at Thompson'stragic face.

They walked in silence as far as Piccadilly Circus, then in theglare of light she saw the misery of his expression.

"You silly old thing," she laughed, as she slipped her arm throughhis. "You funny old thing," and she laughed again.