CHAPTER XXIV
AN AMATEUR CARPENTER
Loide left Liverpool Street with trembling limbs, and a heart full ofbitterness.
That nineteen thousand pounds he had so counted on getting at least apart of, was safe in the possession of the New York detective, who hadbeen one too many for him--that was his dominant, irritating thought.
It worried him.
Gerald had played a bluff game, and with success. Loide quite believedall he had said about his three days' freedom from arrest.
Either Gerald was an artistic liar, or the lawyer's impressions of theways and doings of the American police were quaintly original.
He had made up his mind to flee within three days, but the details ofhis flight were not worrying him just then; he was more easily engagedin taking a tight hold of the fact that he was a ruined man--practicallya penniless fugitive from justice--unless----
That "unless."
He had killed one man with the idea of possessing that nineteen thousandpounds, and although the murder did not lie heavily on his conscience,the ill success attending his effort did--very heavily.
As he walked through his office to the Mansion House station of theelectric railway, he was debating in his mind whether he should haveanother shot for the nineteen thousand pounds the New York detective hadin his possession.
En route to Waterloo he made up his mind that he would. His mind did notneed much making up--the fancied rustle of those crisp Bank of Englandnotes helped a deal.
He lived at a place called The Elms, on the outskirts of Wimbledon. Hishouse stood in its own grounds, some distance away from the road, andfrom other houses.
It was a property he had acquired by foreclosing a mortgage. It would bea quiet spot in which to carry out the scheme he was mentally sittingon.
He hoped to hatch out a nineteen thousand pound egg.
His big difficulty would lie in luring the detective to Wimbledon. Andagain, as an old man, he would be at a disadvantage in any struggle.
To kill the officer would be an easy task, but that was not hisintention. Not that he hesitated at the mere taking of a life--that wasa detail--but he wanted to profit by his work.
He was tired of profitless murder. One incident of that sort he felt wassufficient to last a long time.
He guessed that the officer would not walk about all day with nineteenthousand pounds in his possession, that he had stored the notes awaysafely.
That he had them he was convinced, and his conviction was confirmed bythe request for the letter to the Bank of England withdrawing thestoppage.
That letter had helped to form Loide's idea.
He would imprison the detective, keep him without food or drink till hewrote a note to the custodian of the notes requesting the handing overof them to the bearer of the letter. Loide anticipated playing the partof the bearer.
He reached Wimbledon station, alighted, and walked along the road.
As he did so, he reflected that within three days he would have shakenthe dust of that suburb from his feet for good and all.
At a furniture dealer's he paused. Entering the shop, he said:
"You know me?"
"Yes, sir; Mr. Loide, the lawyer."
"That's right. I am leaving the neighborhood--giving up possession of myhouse."
"Sorry to hear that, sir."
"I am going to live at Brighton. I have hesitated about the expense ofmoving my furniture, and now I am confirmed in my belief that it wouldbe best to sell it. It is getting old, and would not fit my newhouse--larger rooms, you know."
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to come along with me now, and make me a cash offer for thehouseful of furniture, just as it stands. If your offer is good enough Ishall accept it, on condition that you clear the whole lot out beforeto-night."
"To-night!"
"Yes, to-night. There are only nine rooms--a couple of vans would moveit all easily. However, if you don't think you can manage it, I'll trysomewhere----"
"Not at all, sir," said the man, taking off his apron, and rolling downhis shirt-sleeves; "I'll be ready in two seconds."
He scented a profitable job. Hasty matters of this kind often come inthe way of furniture dealers and brokers--generally with much profit tothe buyer.
The buyers are wont to sing gladsomely of such transactions.Surrounding creditors usually sang in another key.
The shopman put on his coat and hat, and went with Loide to The Elms.
Loide let himself in with his key. His servants had been dismissed longsince. His meals he had obtained in the city, visiting his home purelyfor sleeping purposes.
A bargain was struck. The dealer guaranteed that before six o'clock thehouse should be absolutely clear of furniture--that within an hour thetwo vans should drive up and clear out all.
They did. The furniture dealer was as good as his word.
Everything was cleared save three feather beds which Loide kept back.
The furniture dealer marveled at this, but he had done well over thedeal, and said nothing.
Loide placed those feather beds to his own credit--as an act of mercy.They were to save the detective pain.
The furniture removers had completed their task and driven away. Attheir heels trod Loide--in the direction of the post-office.
From there he sent a telegram to his late clerk's address. He thankedhis memory that he had remembered the address in the letter applyingfor the situation.
The telegram ran:
Leaving England to-night, strange and most important information to give you in exchange for your kindness to-day. Come at once, trains every few minutes from Waterloo.
LOIDE, _The Elms, Maypole Road, Wimbledon_.
He paid the one and eightpence cost of the telegram, and then sought inthe high road an ironmonger's.
There he bought two saws, a hammer, chisel, some nails, and some yardsof webbing.
At a lamp shop he purchased a pound of candles, a ready trimmed bicyclelamp, and then hurried home with his purchases to The Elms.
Entering, he threw off his coat, and tucked up his shirt-sleeves.
Manual labor was not in his way, but he guessed from having seen workmenprepare for their tasks in that way that it was the correct thing towork coatless--he had some hard work ahead of him.
His bicycle lamp lighted, he set to work, drove four of his long Frenchnails through the floor of the passage.
The four nails formed a square--a square yard.
With his bicycle lamp in hand, he went downstairs to the wine cellar. Astout old door yielded to the key.
Loide in his palmy days had been a lover of wine, and the cellar hadbeen built to his order. It was the most lofty apartment in the house.
Air and light came to it through strong iron bars, which were on a levelwith the ground above. The roof was at least fourteen feet from thefloor.
On to that roof, formed--apart from the cobwebs--of the rafterssupporting the floor boards above, Loide threw the rays of his lantern.
Four bright, sharp points were sticking through the wood, dust, andcobwebs. He grunted with satisfaction as he noted the situation of thepoints of his nails.
He hurried out of the cellar, up the steps to where the heads of thenails were, and there his real hard work began.
He bored a hole with the aid of the chisel and hammer, then insertingthe fret saw, worked through the width of one of the boards, workingagainst the passage wall.
This operation he repeated the other side, and in a few minutes had alength of floor board up--a yard long.
With the larger saw he had bought, he was soon sawing through five otherboards and their supports, and there presently gaped an opening morethan a yard square.
He hurriedly put the boards together again as he had taken them up.
Going into a back room, he ripped some laths from the Venetian blinds.These he nailed to the floor boards, fastening them together as a lidfor the hole he had made.
&n
bsp; He tried it--it fitted well. But for his holding it, the lid would havefallen through the hole.
He cut the parcel of webbing open, and, leaning over the hole, nailedpieces along one side of the square beneath the floor boards.
When he had nailed the other ends of these pieces to his lid, he had acrude but perfectly hinged flap.
Rushing up-stairs, he dragged down two of the feather beds, one afterthe other, and dropped them through the hole.
That was what he counted as his mercy. He did not want to break any ofthe detective's limbs.
He just wanted information about the nineteen thousand pounds.
Two pieces of lath slightly tacked under the opposite side of the holeto prevent the lid falling through till trodden on, and he lowered theflap on its hinges.
Apart from the sawdust around, it looked a perfect floor. He swishedaway the dust, and stood up with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
He was dog tired with the work, but he had done all he needed to do. Thesnare was set--the trap was waiting.
Would the bird come to his call?