When Dan, looking rather pale and sick, presented himself at The Moment office late that same evening, the first question Laurance put to him was relative to the accident. “Was your machine tampered with?” asked Freddy, in a breathless manner, and almost immediately the door was closed.
“No, it wasn’t,” replied Halliday, sinking with a tired sigh into the nearest chair. “I was making a quick turn and the rudder gave way; I put too great a strain on it, and came fluttering to the ground like a shot partridge. That was a few miles beyond Bedford. However, I had the aeroplane dismounted and packed away in a village close at hand, then after a rest caught the express to St. Pancras. You got my wire?”
“Yes, and I fancied this tumble must be the work of the gang.”
“Not a bit of it. My bad flying, that’s all. Well, I have lost the race, and the man who flew the Zig-zag monoplane has won, though he took his own time in arriving at York. A dashed bad machine I think he had, even though it’s come out top for the time being. I’m a bit shaken, and feel sick, but a night’s rest will put me square.”
“Why didn’t you go straight home and get it?” inquired Freddy anxiously, for there was no denying that Dan looked considerably fagged.
“I read about this death of Durwin in a late edition of an evening paper, and couldn’t rest until I knew the truth. The paper only gave a hint. Tell me what you know.”
Laurance did so, and then handed Halliday a proof of his article on the subject which was to appear in the morning issue of “The Moment”. He supplemented the same with further information.
“I went down to see if there was any scent on the clothes of the corpse,” he explained, “it’s still at Blackheath, you know, in charge of the inspector. There’s no perfume, anyhow.”
“And no fly?”
“No. I asked that the moment I saw Durwin stretched out on the ground. If this crime is the work of the gang, the sign-manual is absent.”
“All the same it is the work of the gang, I truly believe,” remarked Dan, in grim tones. “Durwin has been on the hunt, and very probably, since he discovered the death of Moon first of all, he has been watched. One of the gang got behind him in the crowd, and knifed him in the crush. It would be perfectly easy for the assassin to slip away, without being noticed, since everyone was watching the flight of the aeroplanes.”
Laurance nodded. “I agree with you. But who is the assassin?”
“Well,” said Dan, reflectively, “I saw Penn on the ground.”
“The deuce you did!” cried Freddy jumping up; “did he —”
“Don’t be in too great a hurry. He seems to me much too nervous a man to handle this job.”
“But he belongs to the gang,” insisted Laurance, sharply. “He has as good as admitted that much by what he said of the perfume.”
“Oh yes, I believe he has something to do with the association, which, by the way, appears to be a kind of joint-stock company, like that one mentioned by Balzac in his story ‘Histoire des Treize’, and —”
“Oh, hang your literary references!” interrupted Freddy, anxiously pacing the office, “do you believe that Penn struck the blow?”
“No, I don’t. The gang must have better men than he to strike.”
“Or women,” muttered Laurance, thinking of the false Mrs. Brown. “However, since Penn was in the crowd, and is plainly in the secret of the gang, don’t you think we ought to tell the Blackheath inspector about the matter, and also Inspector Tenson, who had charge of the Hampstead crime?”
“No,” said Dan, after a pause. “If Penn is arrested and questioned, he will say nothing. As he hinted, he would be killed if he gave away the gang; so as he wouldn’t split, when I threatened him on the aeroplane, he certainly won’t speak out if questioned by the police. And we haven’t got enough evidence to prove his complicity, remember. Better keep silence, Freddy, and let the police get at the truth by themselves. Meanwhile, we can look round and keep an eye on Penn.”
After some argument, Laurance agreed to act as his friend suggested. It was no doubt the wiser course to take no action until absolute proof could be procured that the secretary was a member of the gang. Also, if Penn were arrested, the organisation might break up and scatter out of sheer alarm, in which case all the villains would not be caught. Dan deemed it best to work quietly until the whole of the scoundrels could be netted, and to do so it was necessary to preserve silence. Thus it came about that, at the inquest on Durwin, nothing came to light likely to connect this crime with the preceding one. The hint given by Freddy in “The Moment” was not taken, and, indeed, was laughed at. There was neither perfume nor fly on the corpse of the unfortunate man, and consequently no link between Blackheath and Hampstead. An open verdict was brought in, and Durwin was buried without the truth becoming known in any detail. Then a new sensation took up the attention of the public.
Nevertheless, both Dan and his friend were convinced that Durwin, having learned too much, had been done to death by the gang for its own safety in the same way as Sir Charles Moon had been removed. They employed a private detective to watch Penn, but gave him no hint that they suspected him in any way. Through Penn, who was the sole person they knew for certain — and on the evidence of the perfume was connected with the gang — they hoped to arrive at the truth, but the time was not yet ripe for questioning him as regarded his nefarious doings. But they kept him well in sight so as to watch the path he took in life. There was no doubt that by following the same they would arrive at a gathering of the dangerous person, whose association threatened to disintegrate society. As Dan, quoting Balzac’s fiction, had observed, it was Ferragus and his fellow-conspirators in a modern setting.
Dan, having lost the race, and consequently the ￡2,000, was short of funds, and Laurance not being rich could not lend him any money. However, the two managed to borrow a certain sum from a grasping money-lender, which supplied the sinews of war for the time being, and Halliday had the Vincent aeroplane brought to Blackheath again, and made some money in his usual way by taking various people trips for short distances. Aviation was now quite a Society craze, especially for ladies desirous of a new sensation, so Dan did extremely well. A few months later he intended to attempt a cross-Channel flight, for which a French millionaire was offering a large prize, but in the meantime he got along as best he could. Nothing happened for a week or two, likely to stir up the muddy water which concealed the doings of the gang, and there were no new murders. Then Dan took Lillian to a cinematograph exhibition, and made a discovery.
Of course Lillian was profoundly grieved that her lover should have lost the race, but comforted herself with the reflection that he was safe. Had she been able, she would have interdicted Dan from trying further flights, especially in the face of the many accidents which were occurring in connection with aviation all over the world. Dan, however, laughed at her fears, and insisted upon continuing his dangerous vocation. Nevertheless, he promised in a moment of tenderness, to give up aviation when he and Lillian were married, though at present affairs in this direction did not look bright. As yet Dan had discovered very little likely to lead to the detection of Moon’s assassin, and until that individual was brought to justice, Sir John would never consent to the match. The course of true love in these dark days was by no means running so smoothly as the pair desired.
Lord Curberry haunted Sir John Moon’s house, and pestered Lillian with undesired attentions until she was openly rude to him. But this did not at all damp his ardour; he merely smiled acidly and continued to send flowers and theatre seats, and lastly articles of jewellery, which she declined to accept. And always Sir John was at her elbow, croaking out what a lucky girl she was to attract the attention of the peer. With her money and his title, to say nothing of his talents, the marriage would be an ideal one. Lillian did not agree, and with the obstinacy of a woman in love with the wrong person, preferred to think of, and long for, Dan Halliday. More than that, with the connivance of Mrs. Bolstreath, who was heart and soul with the poor suitor, Lillian contrived to meet him at various times, and enjoy herself not a little. On these occasions they were like children let loose from an over-severe nursery. Sometimes, Mrs. Bolstreath came as chaperon, and sometimes, knowing that Dan was a gentleman, she allowed them to be together, solus and alone, which, naturally, they liked much better. But on the whole, and so that no one might talk, the good-natured, smiling woman followed their restless footsteps to restaurants and theatres — matinees, that is — even to cinematographs. It was at one of these last entertainments that Dan received a shock.
On this particular occasion, Mrs. Bolstreath was not with them, as she had gone shopping in Regent Street. An appointment had been made by her to meet Lillian and Dan at five, when the trio intended to have afternoon tea in New Bond Street. Meantime, as it was only three o’clock, the lovers had the whole of London to themselves. The day was rather fine, so Lillian proposed to go to the unfashionable spaces of the park, where she was not likely to meet with any acquaintance. Dan was willing, and they walked along Piccadilly in a leisurely manner. Then Lillian stumbled on a biograph theatre, and read the programme. When she saw that a set of pictures represented the aviation ground at Blackheath, and the start for the London to York race, nothing would serve her whim, but that she must go in and see the film. Dan was willing to oblige her, as he also was curious to see himself in a moving-picture. Therefore, they soon found themselves being guided by an attendant with an electric-torch, through the warm darkness of the hall to a couple of well-cushioned seats. The performance was a continuous one, the pictures repeating themselves again and again, so the lovers arrived in the middle of an interesting story of which they did not know the beginning. Anxious to see what had gone before, Lillian exacted a promise from her complaisant swain that they should wait until the repetition. Dan agreed, but reminded her that this delay would mean no walk in the park.
“Never mind,” said Lillian, slipping her hand into his under cover of the friendly twilight, “we can stay here until we meet Bolly in New Bond Street; you know I adore cinematographs.”
“And me also I hope,” insinuated Dan, to which the answer was a friendly and very emphatic squeeze.
As is usual with such entertainments the pictures were a mixture of comedy and tragedy, so as not to dwell too long on one note. But Lillian, in an impatient mood, waited anxiously for the aviation scenes. These were in due time thrown on the screen, and the girl gave a little cry of pleasure when she saw Dan tinkering at his aeroplane, every gesture being faithfully reproduced. Halliday himself was greatly amused by this resurrection of his doing, and felt an odd feeling at coming face to face with himself in this way. Then he started, greatly surprised, for in front of the crowd, and disproportionately large in comparison with the rest of the figures, he beheld the massive form of Mrs. Jarsell moving across the illuminated picture. She even paused to look round at someone in the mob, so he had a distinct front view of her powerful face. There could be no mistake, as she was a singularly noticeable woman, and when she finally passed away from the screen, he sat wondering at the odd chance which had shown him that she had been on the Blackheath aviation ground on the very day and about the very time Durwin had met with his mysterious death. Her presence suggested the possession of the Sumatra scent perfume, which in its turn recalled Penn’s ownership of the same, and the scent of the dead Sir Charles Moon’s clothes. More than ever Dan was convinced that Mrs. Jarsell was connected with the gang, and therefore with the two............