II
Sunday morning, and the bells of the churches calling to worship. Fog, thin and yellow, covered the streets. All the lamps in Jan Steppe's study were blazing, he had the African's hatred of dim lights and there was usually one lamp burning in the room he might be using, unless the sun shone.
He paced up and down the carpet, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his mind busy. He was too well-equipped a man to see danger in any other direction than where it lay. In moments of peril, he was ice. He could not be cajoled or stampeded into facing imaginary troubles, nor yet to turn his back upon the real threat. All his life he had been a fighter and had grown rich from his victories. Struggle was a normal condition of existence. Nothing had come to him that he had not planned and worked for, or to gain which he had not taken considerable risks. The risks now were confined to Ambrose Sault and his fidelity to the trust which had been forced upon him by circumstances. He was satisfied that Ambrose would not speak. If he did—
Steppe chewed on an unlighted cigar.
The removal of Moropulos meant an inconvenience Sault scarcely counted. The Greek was a nuisance and a danger, whilst his extravagance and folly had brought his associates to the verge of ruin. When the police arrested Ambrose Sault they took possession of the house in which he had been found. Amongst other things seized, was the safe upon which Moropulos had pasted a typewritten notice in his whimsical language:
TO BURGLARS AND ALL WHOM
IT MAY CONCERN
——————————
CAUTION
Any attempt to open this safe, except by
the employment of the correct code word,
will result in the destruction of the safe's
contents.
DON'T TURN THE HANDLE
Steppe had seen the notice but had not read it. If it had not been affixed! One turn of the handle and every paper would have been reduced to a black pulp. He tried to remember what was stored in the cursed thing. There were drafts, memoranda, letters from illicit agents, a record of certain transactions which would not look well—the Mackenzie report! Later he remembered the photograph in the sealed envelope. Why had Sault gone to the safe? The report he had had from the police—they had been with him for the best part of the morning—was to the effect that Sault had been arrested at the moment he was swinging the dials. What was Sault after? He could not read: only documents were in the safe.
A footman appeared. "Who?—Morelle—show him in."
Ronnie was looking wan and tired. He had not recovered from his fright.
"Well? I got your 'phone call. Don't 'phone me, d'ye hear—never! You get people listening in at any time; just now the exchanges will be stiff with detectives. What were you trying to tell me when I shut you up?"
"About Sault—he came to me last night."
"Huh! Fine thing to talk about on the 'phone! Did you tell the police?"
"No, and I've ordered François to say nothing. After Sault went, I sent François to—to Moropulos' house. I knew Sault was going there."
"How did you know? And why did he come to you anyway?"
The answer Ronnie had decided upon after much cogitation. "Oh—a rambling statement about Moropulos. I couldn't make head or tail of it. He said he was going to the house; I was afraid of trouble, so I sent François."
"You knew Moropulos was in Hampshire—I told you they were both there."
"I'd forgotten that. I don't want to come into this, Steppe—"
"What you 'want', matters as much to me as what your François wants. If Sault says he came to your flat—but he won't. He'll say nothing—nothing."
He looked keenly at the other. "That was all he said, huh? Just a rambling statement? Not like Sault that, he never rambles. Did he tell you that he killed Moropulos?"
Ronnie hesitated.
"He did! Try to speak the truth, will you? So he told you he had killed the Greco?"
"I didn't take him seriously. I thought he must be joking—"
"Fine joke, huh? Did Sault ever pull that kind of joke? You're not telling me the truth, Morelle—you'd better. I'm speaking as a friend. What did he come to talk to you about, huh? He never even knew you—had no dealings with you. Why should he come to you after he'd committed a murder?"
"I've told you what happened," said Ronnie desperately.
Again the quick scrutiny. "Well—we shall see."
Ronald waited for a dismissal.
"That sounds like the doctor's voice," he said suddenly.
Steppe strode to the door and opened it.
"Why, Beryl, what brings you out? Good morning, doctor—yes, very bad news."
Beryl came past him and went straight to Ronald. "Did you see him, Ronnie—did he come to you?"
"To me—of course not. I hardly knew him."
"Don't lie," said Steppe impatiently, "we're all friends here. What makes you think he went to Morelle, Beryl?"
"I wondered."
"But you must have had some reason?"
She met the big man's eyes coldly. "Must I be cross-examined? I had a feeling that he had been to Ronnie. I don't know why—why does one have these intuitions?"
"We saw it in the morning papers," explained the doctor. "I am fearfully worried; poor Moropulos, it is dreadful."
Steppe smiled unpleasantly. "He is the least troubled of any of us," he said callously, "and the next least is Sault. I saw the detective who arrested him. He said Sault went straight to sleep the moment they put him into the cell, and woke this morning cheerful. He must have nerves of iron."
"Can anything be done for him, Mr. Steppe?"
"He shall have the best lawyer—that Maxton fellow. He ought to be retained. As far as money can help, I'll do everything possible. I don't think it will make a scrap of difference."
"Mr. Steppe, you knew what an evil man Moropulos was: you know the provocation he offered to Ambrose Sault, isn't it possible that the same cause that made him kill this man, also sent him to the safe?"
"What safe is this—was that in the newspapers too?"
"Yes: he was not a thief, was he? He would not be trying to open the safe for the sake of getting money? He came to get something that Moropulos had."
"I wonder—" Steppe was impressed. "It may have been the photograph."
Ronnie checked the exclamation that terror wrung. He was livid.
"Do you know anything about a photograph?" asked Steppe with growing suspicion.
"No." Here Beryl came to the rescue.
When he saw her lips move, Ronnie expected worse.
"Whatever it was, I am sure that the safe holds the secret: Ambrose would not kill a man unless—unless there was no other solution. Won't you open the safe, Mr. Steppe?"
"I'll be damned if I do!" he vociferated violently. "There is nothing there which would save him."
"Or justify him—or show the Greek as being what he was?"
Steppe could not answer this: he had another comment to offer. His attitude toward her had changed slightly since the big diamond had blazed upon her engagement finger: a reminder of obligations past and to come.
"You're taking a hell of an interest in this fellow, Beryl?"
"I shall always take a hell of an interest in every matter I please," she said, eyeing him steadily. "Unless you satisfy me that nothing has been left undone that can be done for Ambrose, I shall go into the witness box and swear to all that I know."
"My dear—" Her father's expostulation she did not hear.
Steppe broke into it. "There is something about this business which I don't understand. You and Moropulos and this fellow dined together once—or didn't you? Sounds mighty queer, but I won't enquire—now."
"You'll open the safe?"
"No!" Steppe's jaw set like a trap. "Not to save Sault or any other man! There is nothing there to save him, I tell you. But if there was—I wouldn't open it. Get that into your mind, all of you."
She regarded him thoughtfully, and then Ronnie. He looked in another direction.
"I am taking the car, father."
Even Steppe did not ask her where she was going.