Джордж Энгланд - Detective Fiction Weekly. Vol. 62, No. 2, October 3, 1931

“There’s a worse danger than that,” Hewes said. “I’ve been scouting around a bit for the last few days and my long ears have picked up some things here and there. Sheringham has a henchman named Cronin who is a bad boy with a gun. You’ve got to watch out for him because he’s sure to be around somewhere to shoot Sheringham out of any jam he may get into, and if they find out that you are onto their little game, I’m afraid that white shirt-front will be punctured by a few well-placed holes!”

Jim Garth’s hand strayed around to a bulge on his hip pocket. “It takes two to make a really artistic gun fight,” he said.

The Carrington butler stared at Jim Garth with an impassive, expressionless face. “Your card of invitation, sir.”

“I misplaced it,” said Garth placidly.

“Well, if you’ll give me your name, sir, we have a list of the invited guests here to check against.” Standing behind the butler was a man, who for all his dress clothes, was a ludicrously obvious detective. He was looking at Garth with an air of professional suspicion.

“If you don’t mind,” said Garth, “I will not give my name, but if you call Miss Carrington I’m sure she will set matters straight.”

“Miss Carrington is in the receiving line, sir, and unable to see you. If you will just give me your name...”

Jim fixed him with a baleful glare. “I must see Miss Carrington,” he said sternly. “It is a matter of... of life and death.”

The butler was silent for a moment. He had seen these gate crashers before and he knew Miss Carrington would be very annoyed if she was called out to face some unwelcome caller. That was why he was stationed at the door — to keep this sort of person out. This man, however, was obviously a gentleman, and something in the intensity of his look made the butler waver.

“I’ll ask Miss Carrington it she’ll see you,” he said.

As he moved away the detective shifted his position so that he stood directly in front of Jim, blocking his entrance. “No tricks, brother,” he said, out of the corner of his mouth.

Jim smiled, took out a cigarette case, offered one to the detective, who refused with a grunt, and lit one for himself.

After two or three minutes the butler returned with Peg Carrington. She was dressed in a stunning, low cut gown, with a long, sweeping, graceful skirt. The butler nodded toward Jim and she looked at him, puzzled. Then her mouth opened in a little exclamation of surprise.

“Jim!” she cried softly. “Jim Garth.”

He felt a sudden tightening of the muscles in his throat. There had been a time when Peg Carrington had figured very definitely in his plans for the future, and the sight of her brought back all the old longing for her with disturbing force. She held out both her hands to him and he took them in his, struggling to keep his voice steady when he spoke.

“Can I see you for just a minute, Peg — alone?” he asked.

“You can see me, Jim Garth, for as long as you like.” She drew him across the hall to a little reception room, closed the door behind him, and they were alone. She looked at him expectantly for a moment and then squeezed his hand tightly in her. “When did you...” she hesitated.

“Get out?” he concluded for her dryly. “About three weeks ago, Peg.”

“Jim! And you haven’t been here to see me before!”

His lips were set in a tight, hard smile. “Would you have wanted to see an... an ex-convict, Peg?”

“Jim!” She moved disconcertingly close to him. “You know how I felt about that whole business. You know I’ve always believed in you — believed that you were duped in that deal — believed that you’ve paid the price for some one else. I wrote you that, Jim, in... in prison. But you never answered.”

Jim turned away. He couldn’t bear to look into those soft, understanding eyes.

She was something that might have been his, but that was gone for ever now.

“I’ve burned all my bridges, Peg,” he said. “I had to. God knows that having you believe in me is the one and only thing I have to cling to. That and the prospect of squaring my account with the man who smashed everything for me.” He paused. “But somehow, Peg, I had to come here to-night. I just wanted a glimpse of you and of the people that were once my friends. No one will spot me in this crowd. I... I’ve changed.”

“Oh, Jim!” There was a catch in her voice. “The fun has gone out of your eyes, Jim, and the smile that was always on your lips has grown hard. Let me help, somehow.”

“Just seeing you has helped,” he said hoarsely. Then he took a deep breath. He hadn’t come here to open old wounds, but to take the first step in balancing the ledger. Right now he should be out of here, watching for Sheringham and his men. He hated to deceive Peg as to the real reason for his presence, but there was no way out of it. He must play the game as Martin Hewes wished it played, for Hewes had given him his chance.

“You must go back to your guests, Peg. Just let me wander around for a bit and then I’ll slip away.”

“But you’ll come back, Jim? Sometime when we can really talk?”

“If you want me to, Peg,” he said, simply.

“Of course, I want you to!”

When he was alone Jim glanced at his watch. It was eleven thirty. He guessed that if Sheringham was going to do anything it would be soon, while the whole crowd of guests were still milling about. Jim crossed the hall to the door of the big room where the reception line stood, his head lowered to avoid being recognized. He didn’t wish to be hailed by some old friend at this moment when all his attention and wits must be focused on Sheringham.

Standing in the door he looked around the room. He saw Mrs. Carrington in the reception line with her husband and realized that she was not wearing the diamond necklace. Probably this occasion was too public for a display of the famous stones. Then his eyes, roving about the room, picked up Sheringham and he felt every muscle in his body go tense and hard as he stared at the man with the green eyeglass... the man who had ruined his life.

Sheringham was standing over by a gorgeous Florentine tapestry, chatting with a woman whom Jim did not know. Jim had spent a year in jail while that man had moved about freely among Jim’s friends... that man who was a scoundrelly thief and a murderer. Little beads of perspiration stood out on Jim’s forehead. If he could just turn primitive for a moment... If he could just inflict some bodily punishment, some torture, on that suave, cool charlatan.

And then as Jim stood there, seething with anger, the entire house was suddenly plunged into blackness.

A pandemonium of excited shouts and hysterical women’s screaming resulted almost at once. At first nearly every one thought it was some part of a scheme of entertainment planned by the Carringtons, but the millionaire himself had raised his voice reassuringly. Probably some fuse had blown out, he told them. Here and there a match flickered in the darkness, or the tiny flame of a cigarette lighter. People were laughing and bumping into each other.

Aside from those who understood the cause for the sudden darkness, Jim Garth was the only one who came close to guessing the truth. This was Sheringham’s doing. Some one had thrown off the switch in the basement and before light was restored the explorer would have accomplished his plans.

Jim hesitated in the door debating what he would do. He had strict orders from Hewes not to raise an alarm. Sheringham was to be allowed to succeed temporarily. But if he got away without Jim’s being able to trail him they might fumble the whole affair. Should he wait here in the door, or should he try to work his way across the room in the darkness to the spot where Sheringham had stood when the light went out? Sheringham had of course been prepared for this and had probably made his way to the hiding-place of the necklace without any hesitation. Jim decided to stay where he was. When the lights came on he would have a full view not only of the room in which the guests had been received, but also the hall and the front door. In the darkness he pulled the revolver from his hip and dropped it into the pocket of his dinner jacket, where his right hand remained closed over it.