Hadley swung round. 'How so? Do you know anything about it?'

'I'll make you a little bet,' nodded the other, and poked at the air with his pipe - stem for emphasis, ' that this thing belonged to Loony Fley. Give it to me for a second and I'll see. Mind, I don't swear it belonged to Loony. There are plenty of queer things in this joint. But - '

He took the rope and ran his fingers gently along it until he reached the middle. Then he winked and nodded with satisfaction. He twirled his fingers, and then suddenly held his hands apart with the air of a conjurer. The rope came in two pieces.

'Uh - huh. Yes. I thought it was one of Loony's trick ropes. See this? The rope's tapped. It's fitted with a screw in one side and a thread in the other, and you can twist it together just like a screw in wood. You can't see the joint; you can examine the rope all you like, and yet it won't come apart under any pressure. Get the idea? Members of the audience tie the illusionist, or whatdyecallum - tie him tight up in his cabinet. This joint of the rope goes across his hands. The watchers outside can hold the ends of the rope tight to make sure he don't try to get out of it. See? But he unscrews the thing with his teeth, holds the rope taut with his knees, and all kinds of h.e.l.l start to pop inside the cabinet. Wonder! Mystification! Greatest show on earth!' said O'Rourke hoa.r.s.ely. He regarded them amiably, put the pipe back in his mouth, and inhaled deeply. 'Yes. That was one of Loony's ropes, I'll bet anything.'

'I don't doubt that,' said Hadley. 'But what about the suction - cup?'

Again O'Rourke bent slightly backwards to give room for his gestures.

'We - el, Loony was as secretive as they make 'em, of course. But I haven't been around with magic acts and the rest of that stuff without keeping my eyes peeled ... Wait a minute; don't get me wrong! Loony had tricks that were G O O D, and I mean good. This was just routine stuff that everybody knew about. Well. He was working on one - You've heard of the Indian rope trick, haven't you? Fakir throws a rope up in the air; it stands upright; boy climbs up it - whoosh! he disappears. Eh?'

A cloud of smoke whirled up and vanished before his broad gesture.

"I've also heard,' said Dr Fell, blinking at him, 'that n.o.body has ever yet seen it performed.'

'Sure! Exactly! That's just it,' O'Rourke returned, with a sort of pounce. 'That's why Loony was trying to dope out a means of doing it. G.o.d knows whether he did. I think that suction - cup was to catch the rope somewhere when it was thrown up. But don't ask me how.'

'And somebody was to climb up,' said Hadley, in a heavy voice; 'climb up and disappear?'

'We - el, a kid -' O'Rourke brushed the idea away. 'But I'll tell you this much: that thing you've got won't support a full - grown man's weight. Look, gents! I'd try it for you, and swing out the window, only I don't want to break my G.o.ddam neck; and besides, my wrist is out of kilter.'

'I think we've got enough evidence just the same,' said Hadley. 'You say this fellow's bolted, Somers? Any description of him?'

Somers nodded with great satisfaction.

'We shouldn't have any difficulty in pulling him in, sir. He goes under the name of "Jerome Burnaby", which is probably a fake; but he's got a pretty distinctive appearance - and he has a club - foot.'

CHAPTER 14.

THE CLUE OF THE CHURCH BELLS.

THE next sound was the vast, dust - shaking noise of Dr Fell's mirth. The doctor did not only chuckle; he roared. Sitting down on a red and yellow divan, which sagged and creaked alarmingly, he chortled away and pounded his stick on the floor.

'Stung!' said Dr Fell. ' Stung, me bonny boys! Heh - heh - heh. Bang goes the ghost. Bang goes the evidence. Oh, my eye!'

"What do you mean, stung?' demanded Hadley. 'I don't see anything funny in getting our man dead to rights. Doesn't this pretty well convince you that Burnaby's guilty?'

'It convinces me absolutely that he's innocent,' said Dr Fell. He got out a red bandana and wiped his eyes as the amus.e.m.e.nt subsided. 'I was afraid we should find just this sort of thing when we saw the other room. It was a little too good to be true. Burnaby is the Sphinx without a secret; the criminal without a crime - or at least this particular sort of crime.'

'If you would mind explaining -?'

"Not at all,' said the doctor affably. 'Hadley, take a look round and tell me what this whole place reminds you of. Did you ever know of any burglar, any criminal at all, who ever had his secret hideaway arranged with such atmospheric effect, with such romantic setting? With the lock - picks arranged on the table, the brooding microscope, the sinister chemicals, and so on? The real burglar, the real criminal of any kind, takes care to have his haunt looking a little more respectable than a churchwarden's. This display doesn't even remind me of somebody playing at being a burglar. But if you'll think for a second you'll see what it does remind you of, out of a hundred stories and films. I know that,' the doctor explained, 'because I'm so fond of the atmosphere, even the theatrical atmosphere myself ... It sounds like somebody playing detective.'

Hadley stopped, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He peered round.

'When you were a kid,' pursued Dr Fell, with a relish, 'didn't you ever wish for a secret pa.s.sage in your house? - and pretend that some hole in the attic was a secret pa.s.sage, and go crawling through it with a candle, and nearly burn the place down? Didn't you ever play the Great Detective, and wish for a secret lair in some secret street, where you could pursue your deadly studies under an a.s.sumed name? Didn't somebody say Burnaby was a fierce amateur criminologist? Maybe he's writing a book. Anyhow, he had the time and the money to do, in rather a sophisticated way, just what a lot of other grown - up children have wished to do. He's created an alter ego. He's done it on the quiet, because his circle would have roared with laughter if they had known. Relentlessly the bloodhounds of Scotland Yard have tracked down his deadly secret; and his deadly secret is a joke.'

'But, sir -!' protested Somers, in a kind of yelp.

'Stop a bit,' said Hadley, meditatively, and gestured him to silence. The superintendent again examined the place with a half - angry doubt. 'I admit there's an unconvincing look about the place, yes. I admit it has a movie - ish appearance. But what about that blood and this rope? This rope is Fley's, remember. And the blood -'

Dr Fell nodded.

'H'mf, yes. Don't misunderstand. I don't say these rooms mightn't play a part in the business; I'm only warning you not to believe too much in Burnaby's evil double - life.'

"We'll soon find out about that. And,' growled Hadley, ' if the fellow's a murderer I don't care how innocent his double life as a burglar may be. Somers!'

'Sir?'

'Go over to Mr Jerome Burnaby's flat - yes, I know you don't understand, but I mean his other flat. I've got the address. H'm. 13A Bloomsbury Square, second floor. Got it?

Bring him here: use any pretext you like, but see that he comes. Don't answer any questions about this place, or ask any. Got that? And when you go downstairs, see if you can hurry up that landlady.'

He stalked about the room, kicking at the edges of the furniture, as a bewildered and crestfallen Somers hurried out. O'Rourke, who had sat down and was regarding them with amiable interest, waved his pipe.

'Well, gents,' he said, 'I like to see the bloodhounds on the trail, at that. I don't know who this Burnaby is, but he seems to be somebody you already know. Is there anything you'd like to ask me? I told what I knew about Loony to Sergeant, or whatever he is, Somers. But if there's anything else -?'

Hadley drew a deep breath and set his shoulders back to work again. He went through the papers in his brief - case.

'This is your statement - right?' The superintendent read it briefly. 'Have you anything to add to that? I mean, are you positive he said his brother had taken lodgings in this street?'

'That's what he said, yes, sir. He said he'd seen him hanging around here.'

Hadley glanced up sharply. 'That's not the same thing, is it? Which did he say?'

O'Rourke seemed to think this a quibble. He shifted. 'Oh, well, he said that just afterwards. He said, "He's got a room there; I've seen him hanging around." Or something. That's the honest truth, now!'

'But not very definite, is it?' demanded Hadley. 'Think again!'

'Well, h.e.l.l's bells, I am thinking!' protested O'Rourke in an aggrieved tone. 'Take it easy. Somebody reels off a lot of stuff like that; and then afterwards they ask you questions about it and seem to think you're lying if you can't repeat every word. Sorry, partner, but that's the best I can do.'

'What do you know about this brother of his? Since you've known Fley, what has he told you?'

'Not a thing! Not one word! I don't want you to get the wrong idea. When I say I knew Loony better than most people, that don't mean I know anything about him. n.o.body did. If you ever saw him, you'd know he was the last person you could get confidential with over a few drinks, and tell about yourself. It would be like treating Dracula to a couple of beers. Wait a minute! - I mean somebody who looked like Dracula, that's all. Loony was a pretty good sport in his own way.'

Hadley reflected, and then decided on a course. 'The biggest problem we have now - you'll have guessed that - is an impossible situation. I suppose you've seen the newspapers?'

'Yes.' O'Rourke's eyes narrowed. 'Why ask me about that?'

'Some sort of illusion, or stage trick, must have been used to kill both those men. You say you've known magicians and escape artists. Can you think of any trick that would explain how it was done?'

O'Rourke laughed, showing gleaming teeth under the elaborate moustache. The wrinkles of amus.e.m.e.nt deepened round his eyes.

'Oh, well! That's different! That's a lot different. Look, I'll tell you straight. When I offered to swing out the window on that rope, I noticed you. I was afraid you were getting ideas. Get me? I mean about me.' He chuckled. 'Forget it! It'd take a miracle man to work any stunt like that with a rope, even if he had a rope and could walk without leaving any tracks. But as for the other business -' Frowningly O'Rourke brushed up his moustache with the stem of his pipe. He stared across the room. 'It's this way. I'm no authority. I don't know very much about it, and what I do know I generally keep mum about. Kind of - he gestured - 'kind of professional etiquette, if you get me. Also, for things like escapes from locked boxes and disappearances and the rest of it - well, I've given up even talking about 'em.'

'Why?'

'Because,' said O'Rourke, with great emphasis, 'most people are so d.a.m.ned disappointed when they know the secret. Either, in the first place, the thing is so smart and simple - so simple it's funny - that they won't believe they could have been FOOLED by it. They'll say, "Oh, h.e.l.l! don't tell us that stuff! I'd have seen it in a second." Or, in the second place, it's a trick worked with a confederate. That disappoints 'em even more. They say, "Oh, well, if you're going to have somebody to help -!" as though anything was possible then.'

He smoked reflectively.

'It's a funny thing about people. They go to see an illusion; you tell 'em it's an illusion; they pay their money to see an illusion. And yet for some funny reason they get sore because it isn't real magic. When they hear an explanation of how somebody got out of a locked box or a roped sack that they've examined, they get sore because it was a trick. They say it's far - fetched when they know how they were deceived. Now, it takes BRAINS, I'm telling you, to work out one of those simple tricks. And, to be a good escape - artist, a man's got to be cool, strong, experienced, and quick as creased lightning. But they never think of the cleverness it takes just to fool 'em under their noses. I think they'd like the secret of an escape to be some unholy business like real magic; something that n.o.body on G.o.d's earth could ever do. Now, no man who ever lived can make himself as thin as a postcard and slide out through a crack. No man ever crawled out through a keyhole, or pushed himself through a piece of wood. Want me to give you an example?'

'Go on,' said Hadley, who was looking at him curiously.

'All right. Take the second sort first! Take the roped and sealed sack trick: one way of doing it.' [See the admirable and startling book by Mr J. C. Cannell]. O'Rourke was enjoying himself. 'Out comes the performer - in the middle of a group of people, if you want him to - with a light sack made out of black muslin or sateen, and big enough for him to stand up in. He gets inside. His a.s.sistant draws it up, holds the sack about six inches below the mouth, and ties it round tightly with a long handkerchief. Then the people watching can add more knots if they want to, and seal his knots and theirs with wax, and stamp 'em with signets - anything at all. Bang! Up goes a screen round the performer. Thirty seconds later out he walks with the knots still tied and sealed and stamped, and the sack over his arm. Heigh - ho!'

O'Rourke grinned, made the usual play with his moustache the could not seem to leave off twisting it), and rolled on the divan.

'Now, gents, here's where you take a poke at me. There's duplicate sacks, exactly alike. One of 'em the performer's got all folded up and stuck inside his vest. When he gets into the sack, and he's moving and jerking it around, and the a.s.sistant is pulling it up over his head - why, out comes the duplicate. The mouth of the other black sack is pushed up through the mouth of the first, six inches or so; it looks like the mouth of the first. The a.s.sistant grabs it round, and what he honest - to - G.o.d ties is the mouth of the duplicate sack, with such a thin edge of the real one included so that you can't see the joining. Bang! On go the knots and seals. When the performer gets behind his screen, all he does is shove loose the tied sack, drop the one he's standing in, stick the loose sack under his vest, and walk out holding the duplicate sack roped and sealed. Get it? See? It's simple, it's easy, and yet people go nuts trying to figure out how it was done. But when they hear how it was done, they say, "Oh, well, with a confederate -"' He gestured.

Hadley was interested in spite of his professional manner, and Dr Fell was listening with a childlike gaping.

'Yes, I know,' said the superintendent, as though urging an argument, 'but the man we're after, the man who committed these two murders, couldn't have had a confederate! Besides, that's not a vanishing - trick ...'

'All right,' said O'Rourke, and pushed his hat to one side of his head. ' I'll give you an example of a whopping big vanishing - trick. This is a stage illusion, mind. All very fancy. But you can work it in an outdoor theatre, if you want to, where there's no trap - doors, no wires from the flies, no props or funny business at all. Just a stretch of ground. Out rides the illusionist, in a grand blue uniform, on a grand white horse. Out comes his gang of attendants, in white uniforms, with the usual hoop - la like a circus. They go round in a circle once, and then two attendants whisk up a great fan which - just for a moment, see? - hides the man on the horse. Down comes the fan, which is tossed out in the audience to show it's O.K.; but the man on the horse has vanished. He's vanished straight from the middle of a ten - acre field. Heigh - ho!'

'And how do you get out of that one?' demanded Dr Fell.

'Easy! The man's never left the field. But you don't see him. You don't see him because that grand blue uniform is made of paper - over a real white one. As soon as the fan goes up, he tears off the blue one and stuffs it under the white. He jumps down off the horse, and just joins in the gang of white - uniformed attendants. Point is, n.o.body ever lakes the trouble to count them attendants beforehand, and they all exit without anybody ever seeing. That's the basis of most tricks. You're looking at something you don't see, or you'll swear you've seen something that's not there. Hey presto! Bang! Greatest show on earth!'

The stuffy, gaudily - coloured room was quiet. Wind rattled at the windows. Distantly there was a noise of church bells, and the honking of a taxi that pa.s.sed and died. Hadley shook his note - book.

'We're getting off the track,' he said. 'It's clever enough, yes; but how does it apply to this problem?'

'It don't,' admitted O'Rourke, who seemed convulsed by a noiseless mirth. 'I'm telling you - well, because you asked. And to show you what you're up against. I'm giving you the straight dope, Mr Superintendent: I don't want to discourage you, but if you're up against a smart illusionist, you haven't got the chance of a s...o...b..ll in h.e.l.l; you haven't got the chance of that.' He snapped his fingers. 'They're trained to it. It's their business. And there ain't a prison on earth that can hold 'em.'

Hadley's jaw tightened. 'We'll see about that when the time comes. What bothers me, and what's been bothering me for some time, is why Fley sent his brother to do the killing. Fley was the illusionist. Fley would have been the man to do it. But he didn't. Was his brother in the same line?'

'Dunno. At least I never saw his name billed anywhere. But - '

Dr Fell interrupted. With a heavy wheeze, he lumbered up from the couch and spoke sharply.

'Clear the decks for action, Hadley. We're going to have visitors in about two minutes. Look out there! - but keep back from the window.'

He was pointing with his stick. Below them, where the alley curved out between the blank windows of houses, two figures shouldered against the wind. They had turned in from Guilford Street; and, fortunately, had their heads down. One Rampole recognized as that of Rosette Grimaud. The other was a tall man whose shoulder lunged and swung as he walked with the aid of a cane; a man whose leg had a crooked twist and whose right boot was of abnormal thickness.

'Get the lights out in those other rooms,' said Hadley, swiftly. He turned to O'Rourke. 'I'll ask you a big favour. Get downstairs as quickly as you can; stop that landlady from coming up and saying anything; keep her there until you hear from me. Pull the door after you!'

He was already out into the narrow pa.s.sage, snapping off the lights. Dr Fell looked mildly hara.s.sed.

'Look here, you don't mean we're going to hide and overhear terrible secrets, do you?' he demanded. 'I've not got what Mills would call the anatomical structure for such tomfoolery. Besides, they'll spot us in a second. This place is full of smoke - O'Rourke's s.h.a.g.'

Hadley muttered profanities. He drew the curtains so that only a pencil of light slanted into the room.

'Can't be helped; we've got to chance it. We'll sit here quietly. If they've got anything on their minds, they may blurt it out as soon as they get inside the flat and the door is shut. People do. What do you think of O'Rourke, by the way?'

'I think,' stated Dr Fell with energy, 'that O'Rourke is the most stimulating, enlightening, and suggestive witness we have heard so far in this nightmare. He has saved my intellectual self - respect. He is, in fact, almost as enlightening as the church bells.'

Hadley, who was peering through the crack between the curtains, turned his head round. The line of light across his eyes showed a certain wildness.

'Church bells? What church bells?'

'Any church bells,' said Dr Fell's voice out of the gloom. ' I tell you that to me in my heathen blindness the thought of those bells has brought light and balm. It may save me from making an awful mistake ... Yes, I'm quite sane.' The ferrule of a stick rapped the floor and his voice became tense. ' Light, Hadley! Light at last, and glorious messages in the belfry.'

'Are you sure it's not something else in the belfry? Yes? Then for G.o.d's sake will you stop this mystification and tell me what you mean? I suppose the church bells tell you how the vanishing - trick was worked?'

'Oh, no', said Dr Fell. ' Unfortunately not. They only tell me the name of the murderer.'

There was a palpable stillness in the room, a physical heaviness, as of breath restrained to bursting. Dr Fell spoke in a blank, almost an incredulous voice which carried conviction in its mere incredulity. Downstairs a back door closed. Faintly through the quiet house they heard footsteps on the staircase. One set of footsteps was sharp, light and impatient. The other had a drag and then a heavy stamp; there was the noise of a cane knocking the banisters. The noises grew louder, but no word was spoken. A key sc.r.a.ped into the lock of the outer door, which opened and closed again with a click of the spring - lock. There was another click as the light in the hallway was snapped on. Then - evidently when they could see each other - the two burst out as though they had been the ones who held in breath to suffocation.

'So you've lost the key I gave you,' a man's thin, harsh quiet voice spoke. It was mocking and yet repressed. 'And you say you didn't come here last night, after all?'

'Not last night,' said Rosette Grimaud's voice, which had a flat and yet furious tone; 'not last night or any other night.' She laughed. ' I never had any intention of coming at all. You frightened me a little. Well, what of it? And now that I am here, I don't think so much of your hideout. Did you have a pleasant time waiting last night?'

There was a movement as though she had stepped forward and been restrained. The man's voice rose.

'Now, you little devil,' said the man with equal quietness, 'I'm going to tell you something for the good of your soul. I wasn't here. I had no intention of coming. If you think all you have to do is crack the whip to send people through hoops - well, I wasn't here, do you see? You can go through the hoops yourself. I wasn't here.'

'That's a lie, Jerome,' said Rosette calmly.

'You think so, eh? Why?'

Two figures appeared against the light of the partly - opened door. Hadley reached out and drew back the curtains with a rattle of rings.

'We also would like to know the answer to that, Mr Burnaby,' he said.

The flood of murky daylight in their faces caught them off - guard; so much off - guard that expressions were hollowed out as though snapped by a camera. Rosette Grimaud cried out, making a movement of her raised arm as though she would dodge under it, but the flash of the previous look had been bitter, watchful, dangerously triumphant. Jerome Burnaby stood motionless, his chest rising and falling. Silhouetted against the sickly electric light behind, and wearing an old - fashioned broad - brimmed black hat, he bore a curious resemblance to the lean Sandeman figure in the advertis.e.m.e.nt. But he was more than a silhouette. He had a strong, furrowed face, that ordinarily might have been bluff and amiable like his gestures; an underhung jaw, and eyes which seemed to have lost their colour with anger. Taking off his hat, he tossed it on a divan with a swashbuckling air that struck Rampole as rather theatrical. His wiry brown hair, patched with grey round the temples, stood up as though released from pressure like a jack - in - the - box.

'Well?' he said with a sort of thin, bluff jocularity, and took a lurching step forward on the club - foot. 'Is this a hold - up or what? Three to one, I see. I happen to have a sword - stick, though - '

'It won't be needed, Jerome,' said the girl. 'They're the police.'

Burnaby stopped; stopped and rubbed his mouth with a big hand. He seemed nervous, though he went on with ironical jocularity. 'Oh! The police, eh? I'm honoured. Breaking and entering, I see.'

'You are the tenant of this flat,' said Hadley, returning an equal suavity, 'not the owner or landlord of the house. If suspicious behaviour is seen - I don't know about suspicious, Mr Burnaby, but I think your friends would be amused at these - oriental surroundings. Wouldn't they?'

That smile, that tone of voice, struck through to a raw place. Burnaby's face became a muddy colour.

'd.a.m.n you,' he said, and half raised the cane, 'what do you want here?'