XXX

He woke with a start. There was a rush of feet in the sitting-room and then⁠—crash!

He was out of bed in a second and into the sitting-room. Carver was nowhere to be seen and he felt by the draught that the door of the flat was wide open. He put his hand on the light switch and a voice from the darkness said:

“Don’t touch that light!”

It came from outside the door and it was Carver who was speaking.

Below came the thud of the street-door closing.

Carver came hurriedly into the room, passed him, ran to the window and looked out.

“You can put it on now,” said Carver. A red welt was slashed across his face and it was bleeding slightly.

He put up his hand and looked at it.

“That was a narrow squeak,” he said. “Yes, he’s gone. I could have taken a chance and run downstairs after the door slammed, but even that might have been a fake to lure me into the open.”

The whole building was awake now. Tab heard the sound of unlocking doors and voices speaking from above and below.

“It was the cigar that gave me away,” said Carver ruefully. “I was a fool to smoke. He must have seen the red end in the darkness, and on the whole I think he shot pretty accurately.”

There was a small Medici print hanging by the side of the window. The glass was shattered. A round bullet-hole showed on the white shoulder of Beatrice D’Este.

Carver fingered the hole carefully.

“That looks to me like an automatic,” he said. “He is getting quite modern. The last time he killed a man he used a type of revolver which was issued by the Chinese government to its officers some fifteen years ago. We know that from the shape of the bullet,” he went on unconcerned. “There is somebody at the door, Tab. You had better go and explain we have had another attack of burglaritis.”

Tab was gone some ten minutes, quieting the tenants of the flats. When he returned he found Carver examining the track of the second bullet, which had struck the lower window sash and which had drilled a neat little hole.

“Probably hit the wall opposite,” said Carver, squinting through.

“The man below found this on the stairs,” said Tab.

It was a small green-handled knife in a lacquered scabbard.

“Pseudo-Chinese,” said Carver. “It may even be the genuine article.” He pulled out the knife, tested the razor-like edge, “And sharp,” he said. “I had an idea he didn’t mean to use his gun.”

“Now,” said Tab, facing the detective squarely, “we will dispense with all light and airy persiflage and come down to sober affidavits. You expected this attack. That is why you came tonight with your fake story of a literary-minded nephew.”

“I did and I didn’t,” said Carver frankly. “When I told you that the attack would be made on me, I half believed it, but as I couldn’t find an excuse for getting you to stay with me, and, moreover, as I have no accommodation for a man of your luxurious habits, I decided on the whole I’d take a chance by staying here.” He looked at his watch. “Two o’clock,” he said. “He must have come about a quarter of an hour ago, and I will give him this credit, that I did not hear the door open. Fortunately there was a clothes hook behind the door and sometime or other you hung an old hat there. It was hearing this hat fall that made me realise that either I was growing deaf, or else the stealthy personage was unusually soft-footed. He must have seen first my cigar, and then my outline as I rose, for like a fool, I hadn’t pulled the settee away from the window. He was back in the lobby in a flash and before I knew what had happened he had fired twice, slammed the door and gone. He was still in the hall when I went out, but it was so dark that I could see nothing.”

“I thought I heard the door first.”

“Because you were asleep,” smiled the detective, “and you hear the last sound first. No, I will give you a guarantee that he shot at me before he shut the door.” His eyes narrowed. “I wonder,” he said softly.

“What?”

“I wonder if your friend has had a duplicate of this attack? Where is he staying?”

“I think we ought to warn him, anyway,” said Tab. “Our visitor came in the first place to burgle Rex’s trunks and probably he doesn’t know that Rex isn’t staying here. He is at the Pitt Hotel.”

Carver got the telephone directory and discovered the number. It was some time before he had an answer, for the clerks at the Pitt Hotel are not accustomed to calls at that hour of the morning. Presently he got into touch with a porter.

“I don’t know whether he is staying here, but I will find out,” said that official.

It was ten minutes before he had made the discovery.

“Yes, he is in Room 180. Shall I put you through?”

“If you please,” said Carver. He heard the click and clug of the connection being made and after an appreciable delay Rex’s sleepy voice answered him.

“Hullo, who is that? What the devil do you want?”

“I’ll talk to him,” whispered Tab and took the receiver from the detective’s hands.

“Is that you Rex?”

“Hullo, who is that, Tab? What’s the idea?”

“We have had a visitor,” said Tab. “You remember I told you about the burglar? Well, he came again tonight.”

“The devil he did.”

“In fact, we’ve turned the old flat into a shooting gallery,” said Tab, “and Carver wonders whether you have had a similar experience.”

“Not I,” was the cheerful reply. “It is as much as a man’s life’s worth to wake me out of my sleep.”

Tab grinned.

“Keep your door locked.”

“And my telephone receiver off,” said the other. “I’ll let you know if anything happens. Is Carver there?”

“Yes,” said Tab.

Carver went to the phone.

“He wants to speak to you.”

Carver had made a signal and now he took the receiver in his hand.

“I am sorry you have been disturbed, Mr. Lander,” he said, “but I’d like you to know officially that we warn you that an attempt has been made to get into this flat at⁠—well ten minutes ago. What time would that be?”

“That would be about a quarter of two, I guess,” said Rex’s voice. “Thank you for telling me, Inspector, but I am not at all scared.”

Carver put the receiver on the hook and rubbed his hands.

“Do you think they will go there? What on earth is amusing you?” asked Tab irritably.

“I am intensely amused, I admit,” said Carver, “at the queer and simple error that our murderer made.”

Early in the morning Carver called at the Pitt Hotel and personally interviewed a sleepy-eyed Rex, who sat up in bed in violently striped pyjamas and expostulated with commendable mildness upon the interruption to his night’s sleep.

“I am one of those people,” he said severely, “who require at least twelve hours’ heavy slumber. Heaven having endowed me with the means whereby I can gratify my wishes in this respect, it is a little short of an outrage that Tab and you should call me up even to tell me that the flat has been burgled again.”

Reporting his interview on his return to the flat, Carver offered a few remarks on the vagaries of masculine fashions, particularly in relation to pyjamas, and came back at a tangent to the very serious events of the past twelve hours.

“I think you’ll be all right tonight,” he said. “At any rate, I am leaving you to your own devices. Bolt the door and put a trip wire between a couple of chairs.”

“Oh nonsense!” said Tab. “He will not come again tonight.”

Carver scratched his chin.

“What is tonight.”

“Saturday.”

“The fatal Saturday eh?” he said. “No, perhaps not. What are you doing today?”

“I am driving a friend into the country, or rather she is driving me,” said Tab promptly. “It is my weekend off, but I shall be back in town tonight.”

Carver nodded.

“Ring me up the moment you are back. Will you promise that?”

And Tab laughed.

“Certainly I will if it is any satisfaction to you.”

“If you don’t ring me, I shall ring you at intervals throughout the night,” threatened Carver. “I have already warned Lander. Above all, Lander must not sleep at this flat.”

“Don’t you think that by now they will have discovered that he is no longer living in the flat?” asked Tab.

“They may or may not,” was the reply, “and⁠—” he hesitated, “I don’t think I should talk about this to Miss Ardfern. In fact, I would rather you didn’t.”

Tab had had no intention of alarming Ursula, and he could make that promise without reservation.