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. If John Lenley had a glimmering of intelligence, and the pearls were hiddenin the flat, here was a chance to dispose of them, but the opportunity whichAlan offered was not taken.It was sheer mad arrogance on Lenley s part to reject the chance that wasgiven to him.He would not be under any obligation to the gardener s son! They are in a box under the bed, he said. You knew that or you wouldn thave come.I am not taking any favours from you, Wembury, and I don tsuppose I should get any if I did.If you feel any satisfaction in arresting a manwhose father provided the cottage in which you were born, I suppose you areentitled to feel it. He turned on his heel, walked into his room, and a few seconds later cameback with a small cardboard box which he laid on the table.Alan Wembury wasmomentarily numbed by the tragedy which had overwhelmed this littlehousehold.He dared not look at Mary, who stood stiffly by the side of the table.Her pallid face was turned with an agonised expression of entreaty to herbrother, and it was only now that she could find speech. Johnny! How could you! He wriggled his shoulders impatiently. It is no use making a fuss, Mary, he said bluntly. I was mad! Turning suddenly, he caught her in his arms, and his whole frame shook as hekissed her pale lips. Well, I ll go, he said brokenly, and in another instant had wrenched himselffree of her kiss and her clinging hands, and had walked out of the room aprisoner.50 CHAPTER 14Neither Alan Wembury nor his prisoner spoke until they were approachingFlanders Lane Police Station, and then Johnny asked, without turning his head. Who gave me away? It was only the rigid discipline of twelve years police work that preventedAlan from betraying the betrayer. Information received, he answered conventionally, and the young manlaughed. I suppose you ve been watching me since the robbery, he said. Well,you ll get promotion out of this, Wembury, and I wish you joy of it. When he faced the desk sergeant his mood became a little more amiable, andhe asked if Maurice Meister could be intimated.Just before he went to the cellhe asked, What do I get for this, Wembury? Alan shook his head.He was certain in his mind that, though it was a firstoffence, nothing could save Johnny Lenley from penal servitude.It was eleven o clock at night, and rain was falling heavily, when Alan camewalking quickly down the deserted stretch of Flanders Lane, towards Meister shouse.From the opposite side of the road he could see above the wall the upperwindows; one window showed a light.The lawyer was still up, possibly wasinterviewing one of his queer clients, who had come by a secret way into thehouse to display his ill-gotten wares or to pour a tale of woe into Meister sunsympathetic ear.These old houses near the river were honeycombed withcellar passages, and only a few weeks before, there had been discovered in thecourse of demolition a secret room which the owner, who had lived in the placefor twenty years, had never suspected.As he crossed the road, Alan saw a figure emerge from the dark shadow ofthe wall which surrounded the lawyer s house.There was something verystealthy in the movements of the man, and all that was police officer inWembury s composition, was aroused by this furtiveness.He challenged himsharply, and to his surprise, instead of turning and running, as the FlandersLaner might be expected to do in the circumstances, the man turned and cameslowly towards him and stood revealed in the beam of Inspector Wembury spocket lamp, a slight man with a dark, bearded face.He was a stranger to thedetective, but that was not remarkable.Most of the undesirables of Deptfordwere as yet unknown to Alan. Hallo! Who are you, and what are you doing here? he asked, andimmediately came the cool answer51 I might ask you the same question! I am a police officer, said Alan Wembury sternly, and he heard a lowchuckle. Then we are brothers in misfortune, replied the stranger, for I am a policeofficer, too.Inspector Wembury, I presume? That is my name, said Alan, and waited. I cannot bother to give you my card, but my name is Bliss CentralDetective Inspector Bliss of Scotland Yard. Bliss? Alan remembered now that this unpopular police officer had been dueto arrive in England on that or on the previous day.One fact was certain: if thiswere Bliss, he was Alan s superior officer. Are you looking for something? he asked.For a while Bliss made no reply. I don t know what I m looking for exactly.Deptford is an old division ofmine, and I was just renewing acquaintance with the place.Are you going tosee Meister? How did he know it was Meister s house, Alan wondered
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