CHAPTER XIX.

IN FLASH FRED’S FLAT

After the discovery in the pawnbroker’s shop Larry went back to the police station to make yet another discovery. Flash Fred was not in his lodgings.

“I wish you would come down and see his flat, sir,” said the officer who had gone to make the arrest. “I think that something queer has happened.”

“If there has been anything in this case which has not been queer,” said Larry with asperity, “I should like to hear about it!”

Flash Fred lived in Modley House, Jermyn Street, a block of service flats, and the porter had a strange story to tell.

“Mr. Grogan came in at about eleven o’clock to-night,” he said, “and went up to his flat. I took him a syphon of soda he ordered, and said good-night to him.

“Afterwards I went round seeing that the service doors were shut and that the lights had been out in the kitchen, then came to my cubby-hole to have my supper and read the evening newspaper.”

The “cubby-hole” was a space under the stairway which had been converted into a little office where the tenants left their keys.

“At about half-past twelve I thought I heard a sound like a shot and a man’s voice shout something and I came out into the passage and listened. There was still a sort of disturbance going on, so I went up to the second floor where the sound came from and listened again. There was a light in Mr. Grogan’s flat. I could see that through the transom. It was the only light visible. I knocked at the door and after a while Mr. Grogan came to the door, and I tell you he was a most terrifying sight. He had a big knife in his hand and his clothes were smothered with blood.

“‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ he said. ‘Come in.’

“I went into the sitting room and a pretty sight it was! Chairs thrown over, the table upside down, and glasses and bottles scattered over the floor. Outside Mr. Grogan’s window are the stairs of the fire escape, and the window was open.

“‘What’s wrong, sir?’ I asked.

“‘Nothing particular,’ he said, ‘only a burglar broke in. That’s all. Give me a whisky-and-soda.’

“He was trembling from head to foot and was very excited. He kept muttering to himself, but I didn’t hear what he said. When I came back with the whisky-and-soda he had cleaned the knife and was more calm. I found him standing at the open window, looking down into the yard, where the fire escape leads, and then I noticed that one of the pictures hanging on the wall was smashed by a bullet. I knew it was a bullet because I was in the Metropolitan Police for some years, and I’ve seen a similar mark. I told him there would be serious trouble over this disturbance because the other tenants would complain, but he asked me not to worry about that, and gave me £50 to pay his rent and any expenses that we had been put to, and asked me to keep the flat until he returned. He said he was going abroad.”

“What happened then?” asked Larry when the man paused.

“Well, sir, he came out with a bag, got into a cab and drove off, and that’s the last I saw of him.”

Larry made an examination of the room and he found that the porter’s description had been a faithful one. The room was illuminated by a cluster of three lights hanging from the ceiling and covered by a shade. One of the globes was smashed, and Larry drew the attention of the porter to this.

“Yes, sir, these lights work on two circuits: one switch turns on one and the other switch turns on two. As a rule Mr. Grogan only has the single light on.”

Larry nodded.

“I pretty well know what happened,” he said.

He could picture the scene in the room: the intruder coming through the window, Flash Fred covering him with his revolver, and the big man advancing with upraised hands until he could reach the globe and crush it in his powerful paw. And then Fred had fired and the man was on him, but Fred was too slippery. Fred had been cleverer than he. These continental crooks who take enormous risks do not depend so much upon their guns as upon their knives, and to Blind Jake’s surprise--for Blind Jake it must have been--Grogan had met the onrush and the suffocating hug of this animal-man with a steel blade, and, releasing his hold, Blind Jake must have made his escape through the open window. But where was Fred? In that moment Larry felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the crook. He, too, then, had stumbled by accident or design upon the murderer of Gordon Stuart.

What was that clue? He must find Flash Fred, and find him at once, for this thief might have in his hands a solution to the mystery.

He went home, ’phoned to headquarters, and discovered that Harvey had made a negative report, took a bath, and went to bed. He slept for four hours; and then by his instructions Sunny, who seemed equally able to dispense with the recuperation of sleep, brought him his tea and toast.

“What time is it?” asked Larry, blinking himself awake.

“Nine o’clock, sir,” said Sunny. “The postman has come and the papers have been.”

“Bring me my letters,” said Larry, jumping out of bed.

He looked them through as he sipped his tea.

One had come, evidently delivered by hand, for there was no stamp upon the envelope.

“When did this arrive?” he asked the valet when Sunny returned to the room.

“It was in the box when I got up, sir,” said Sunny. “I think it must have come by hand.”

“You’re a fool, Sunny,” snapped Larry. “Of course it came by hand.”

“I’m glad you agree with me, sir,” said the imperturbable Sunny.

Larry ripped open the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. It began without any polite preliminary:

You had better interest yourself in another case, Mr. Holt. You will get into serious trouble if you do not heed this warning.

“Oh, yes,” said Larry, and rang the bell.

“Sunny,” he said, “bring me my coat and the papers that are in the inside pocket.”

Larry searched for and found the letter which Flash Fred had received inviting him to call at Todd’s Home at six o’clock in the morning and to avoid attracting attention.

He put the letter of warning by its side and compared them. They were in the same handwriting!