2022-02-08 19:42:46Theatre crows were pressing along Piccadilly and s
down through the Haymarket, pouring into buses and tubes and taxis. Dark massy clouds were sailing in sullen sqaudrons across the moon and there was a warm smell of rain in the air.
"Rather a good show, wasn't it? I thought that new girl was awfully clever----wonderfully versatile for a newcomer."
A tall and very beautiful girl, with a mass of shinning brown hair crowning the clear contour of her face, glance up at her mother for confirmation as they made their way to the car park behind Leicester Square.
"very clever indeed, Mercia. and quite charming she actually contrived not to look ugly even when singing the highest of her top notes. A decided accomplishment".
Both women were beautifully gowned , the younger one in a swathing miracle of silver tissues which in the electric glare of the great arc lamps, flashed an occasional glint if powder blue. her mother was dressed more sedately. She carried herself with a regal air and she looked her part splendidly from the crown of her Bond Street coiffured head to the tips of her satin shoes.
She glanced half-humorously at her daughter whose eyes were busily ranging ahead among the crowds of cars and people.
"Not expecting to see Mr. Dain tonight, are you?" she asked banteringly.
Mercia was guilty of a sudden suspicion of a blush.
"No." She laughed. "I was looking for the car --- I don't think Mr. Dain knew I was going to a theatre tonight. And it's doubtful if he would look for me here. He---he isn't very fond of crowds."
"Is he calling tonight, dear?"
"I don't think so; I really don't think so. He's such a-----such a-----how can I put it?-----such an unusual sort of man you know. Quite unlike anything I've ever experienced."
"Shy?"
"Oh no; not quite that. But----reserved somehow. I never feel that I know anything about him. I always get the curious impression that whenever he's talking, he is never talking about the thing that is really in his mind. Odd, isn't it?"
"One of the oddities if a superfluity of brains my dear."
"I expect that's it. He seems to exist in the midst of a tremendous preoccupation. and yet, somehow-----"
Mercia's voice trailed off on a note of worried indecision.
Her mother, motherly observant and maternally discreet in every way saw the signs of difficulties ahead and gave the conversation a deft half twist, not enough to be too obvious but just enough to get back to firmer ground.
"He's a frightfully busy man isn't he?" She said casually.
"What new marvel is he engaged upon now? something highly startling, I suppose?"
Mercia smiled. " I don't know at all," she said; " he very rarely speaks of his tasks----he doesn't like talking about possibilities at all until they're a fait accompli. I wouldn't be surprised though if he isn't trying to find a way of preventing ladders in silk stockings. something utterly impossible, I'll be bound. Look-----there's our car."
She signalled to the chauffeur and a minute later they were whirling away to Greydene, the great house on the Northern Heights where Mercia, twenty-five years earlier, had first opened her infant eyes to the world. they were still talking about Valmon Dain and the queer mixture of nature's that went to the moulding of his personality when they sat down to supper.
And Dain, silent in the shadowed gloom of his room above Kingsway, took off a pair of headphones and withdrew a contact key from a tiny polished dial to which his phones were connected. There was scarcely a sound in the room, save the dull humming of the dynamos.
His brow was damp with perspiration, for the room was oppressively hoy. There was a quiet speculative look in his eyes when he put the instruments down and he was muttering to himself disjointedly, ad though his real thoughts were having a harassing tug-of-war with some other matter of pressing importance.
"Lyall, Lyall," he muttered. "There can't be two Willard Lyall in London... at least , not in Highgate.... and in that area.... and the Yard won't be through again for another hour..... Willard Lyall.... doesn't seem possible.... and the Yard got intimation no. 34 by the nine o'clock delivery... in a fearful stew about it....phew, it's hot tonight... never dreamed it was so late.. half past eleven... and they went to the Royal tonight... they said so... They'll be an hour yet before they retire... might have time if I rushed... just about... the Yard will have to go hang... pity... great pity... might have got a line on Lyall... be too late then... oh, well"
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Landring Dent
Lazard deftly charged the weapon with three small needles, which he took from a little gold ornament on his watch-fob. The needles were extremely thin, and about three-quarters of an inch long. They were wet when he lifted them from the little trinket, and he exercised scrupulous care in the way he handled them. He did not touch them with his fingers, but fed them into the tube with a pair of tweezers. Then he fitted a rubber shield over the trigger and slipped it back into his pocket. The cab was already half-way up Kingsway. He carefully wiped the gold trinket on a piece of cotton-wool, and burned the wool on the floor of the cab. It burned with a bright blue flame that flared up instantly, burned fiercely for a second, and as quickly died. He tapped the window, and the cab pulled in to the kerb. "I don't exactly know where Denburh House is, sir," said the driver apologetically. "All right; you've passed it. I'll walk back," said the Count, and paid him off
Delbury's voice
Dain rested for a few minutes from the pressing grip of his headphones, and then plugged in on a combination he knew by heart. He had got the pitch in on a combination he knew by heart. He had got the pitch of his instrument so perfectly attuned to that particular room that he got a first-class result without further experiment. In a moment there were voices in his headphones-three of them, talking rapidly. He recognized them all. They were Delbury, Shaughnessy, and the Chief. Dain pulled a notebook over and took a verbatim note of all that he required. "I'm asking for a warrant right now, chief." The voice was Delbury's vibrant with conviction. "You're satisfied about Dain?" "Absolutely. I wasn't at first, but I am now. I'm certain that as soon as we've arrested Dain we shall begin to get a start on the solution to the mystery of the Ghost. It's all wrapped up in this plain as a
A man like Valmon Dain is too hot for me.
The only break in the chain of silence was when, in a few seconds, the clear treble of the telephone girl's voice came on at the exchange with her businesslike "Number please?" Lazard pulled the instrument nearer to him. "This is the Count Lazard speaking," he said suavely. "I'm sorry to trouble you, miss, but I think there must be something wrong with my telephone. Has anyone been trying to ring me up?" "I couldn't remember offhand, sir, but I don't think so," replied the girl politely. "Nobody has called me and failed to get through?" "No, sir; not during the last hour, at least." "Just one more question, miss. Could you tell me if there is a crossed wire on your switchboard-one which throws a connection across to my line from another exchange?" "Just a moment, s
Count Lazard
Dain tried a new series. At his tenth attempt he fell headlong into it. His hands were as near to trembling with excitement as ever they had been in his life as he reached out for his headphones. There was not the faintest doubt about the identity of that wheezy guttural voice. It was Tansy's. And he was talking half-earnestly, half-awakely, to another voice, a voice which was remarkable for its cold, inscrutable imperturbability. Dain glanced up at his dails to see into whose house the connection was made. He gasped with unbelief, and then came the realization that he knew that quiet voice, that voice with it's timbre of utter aloofness from emotion or excitement. It had a personality of it's own. It seemed to give out the impression that nothing could shake its serene imperturbability. If all London collapsed in the night, if the stars burst or the heavens fell, that voice would be heard discussing the matter with the cold detachment of an histori
Dain's single weakness
Valmon Dain waited until the sound of Delbury's voice ceased in the study. All that came to him after that was the sound of quiet weeping, heart broken sobs that came gently over the whispering wires. And he knew that Delbury had gone. He glanced at his watch. "Time for a morsel of lunch," he muttered. "Delbury will be twenty minutes at the very least before he gets back to the Yard-probably half an hour before he's through to the chief." He opened a glass of tongue and ate with his headphones still on. He had fixed up a little electric-cooker in a corner above one of the purring dynamos, not a very elaborate contraption but quite sufficient for the simple needs of a man who was condemning himself to solitary companionship for the next few weeks. He made a mental note to take out a suitcase with him and lay in a safe supply of provisions. The ante-room outside he was already rearrangi
The Cryptic message for Williard Lyall
Mercia turned the scale in their own favour by substantiating her mother's declaration. "Surely you have told us horrors enough to know that we shouldn't be squeamish about hearing the rest?" she said bravely. "That a mystery exists and a very sinister one is obvious to even the meanest intelligence. If you won't tell us, Mr. Delbury, you leave us no other alternative than to make personal application to Scotland Yard itself, a recourse which would be extremely unpleasant for me to take, but one which I should not have the slightest hesitation in doing." "Delbury sighed and brushed his fingers through his hair."Very well, ladies," he said, in a tone of regretful resignation. "But whatever I tell you, I insist, is told you with the underlying proviso that it may not be true."Mrs. Lyall inclined her head the merest fraction."perhaps you could help me in the matter," said Delbury, running swiftly over his notes. "can you remember with
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