A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook

Title:      Exit the Skeleton
Author:     Herbert Adams
eBook No.:  0500751.txt
Edition:    1
Language:   English
Character set encoding:     Latin-1(ISO-8859-1)--8 bit
Date first posted:          August 2005
Date most recently updated: October 2007

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Title:      Exit the Skeleton
Author:     Herbert Adams





CHAPTER I

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER

AMABEL LEIGH woke as her daily helper, elderly and stout, entered the
room with the tray.

"Mornin', dearie. Ten o'clock to the tick and here's yer brekfus'. A nice
kipper, seein' as it's Wednesday. Three letters for yer; two of 'em bills
by the look of it. Hope the other makes up. No news in the papers. Strike
in Belfast, sudden death of a Cab'net Minister, airyplane crash in
America, but no news what is news. I'll get yer bath in 'arf a hour."

"You are very good to me, Croonie."

"Good to them as is good to me. That's my motter; always has been."

Croonie put the tray on a bedside table, straightened the coverlet and
pulled back the curtains. She seemed reluctant to go. She generally
enjoyed a little chat, and this morning there was a special reason for
one. Everybody called her Croonie. It was, not a nickname as many
supposed, nor had it any reference, ironic or otherwise, to her evident
lack of a singing voice. It was simpler than that. She had married a man
named Croonie, who had left her when she ceased to support him in the
manner to which he felt himself entitled.

"So Miss Valerie got back all right," she said.

"You have seen her?"

"Threw her arms round me the minute I got here, she did, and kissed me.
'Good to be home, Croonie,' she said. My word, she has shot up, taller 'n
you now and nearly as pretty as you was at her age."

"Prettier, I hope."

"She'll never be that, if she lives to a nundred. 'Tell Mummie I'll be
back soon,' she says, and out she pops. A young man, I 'spose, but her
only home yesterday and early in the mornin'. She said somethin' about
bathin' the Serpentine. There's the dratted bell. Bath ready in a' nour,
dearie."

She bustled from the room. Amabel knew she was lucky to have such a
faithful servitor and friend. Croonie had been a dresser at the theatre
when they first met. Now her mornings were spent at the flat, where she
let herself in at eight o'clock on the tick, as she put it. She sometimes
"obliged" other ladies in the afternoon, or for an occasional party, but
her one job supplied her needs and she did not believe in work for work's
sake.

Amabel drank her tea and attacked her kipper. She did not immediately
open her letters; there was plenty to occupy her thoughts. Few would have
supposed that her pleasant bedroom had for many years been the connubial
nest of an intemperate cabman and his tempestuous spouse. Yet such was
the case. An enterprising speculator, with some skill as an architect,
had purchased a mews that was falling into decay and had transformed it
into a select colony of small flats. Outside, pebble-dash had disguised
the old brickwork; and inside, modern fitments and pretty lattice windows
had transformed stalls and coach-houses with the rooms over them into
suites, each with two bedrooms, a lounge, a tiny kitchenette and a
bathroom. The name, Russell's Mews, had burgeoned into Dowton Close and,
the position being near to South Kensington station, many fortunate
persons with some fashionable or aristocratic aspirations had secured
homes in a convenient locality at a moderate rent. Amabel's was on the
first floor.

Her bedroom looked larger and more lofty than was actually the case, for
the bed was low and the furniture small. The suite in Canadian white
maple and the cheerful chintz hangings were suggestive of a country
cottage rather than a London mews. The only picture on the walls was a
framed caricature of herself; clever but cruel. It had appeared in an
illustrated paper and she had persuaded the artist to let her have the
original, thereby starting a firm friendship. She said she hung it where
it was to keep her humble.

Breakfast finished, she opened the letters. The bills she tossed aside;
they were as she had expected. But the third missive, that Croonie had
hoped would bring luck, brought instead a look of anger to her face. Not
that it was entirely unexpected, but a thing that is foreseen can be
unpleasant when it comes, especially if it destroys what faint vestige of
hope there may be that it will not come. It was from a firm of solicitors
in Gray's Inn.

'Dear Miss Legh,

'As you may be aware, the play Lucky in Love, produced by Mr. Greg
Dobson, has been a failure. You will remember you guaranteed the
production up to a sum of two thousand pounds.

'We regret to have to inform you that the total losses are nearly three
times that amount. At the moment we are unaware of Mr. Dobson's precise
whereabouts. If you can give us his present address we shall be glad. In
the mean time perhaps you will let us have the amount of your guarantee.

'Yours faithfully,

'Wilson, Son & Willowby.'

"So Greg has bolted," she muttered. "How like him! What a fool I was!"

Two thousand pounds! She had thought she was onto a winner. Things had
gone wrong from the start. Greg was too lavish in every direction;
repeated delays; the illness of the leading man. Then the first night and
the awful reviews. Empty houses! "Give it time," Greg had said. So the
losses piled up.

No use blaming anyone. She was confident she knew a good thing and she
was wrong.

She put her hand under her pillow and pulled out a crumpled page from a
gossipy Sunday journal. One paragraph was marked. It was headed: Lucy
BAXT. She had marked it; she had read it many times before.

'The estate of Sir Lionel Cradon, the former Iron King, late of
Westbourne House, Sloane Street, provides the comfortable sum of two
hundred thousand pounds after the demands of the Treasury have been
satisfied. Of this, half is left to his infant son, the interest to
accrue until he is twenty-one, to effect insurances against future death
duties, so that a clear £100,000 may follow the title. The widow has the
income on the residue for life and then it also reverts to little Sir
Lionel, who is nearly one year old.'

There was a rap at the door.

"Hullo, darling! Can I come in?"

Without waiting for a reply the door was opened and a young girl entered.
She was tall and slender, with fine eyes, a rather wide mouth with
perfect teeth, good features and a clear skin tanned by the sun and the
sea. Very like the mother lying on the bed, though brimming over with
health and happiness. Amabel hastily pushed the papers she had been
reading under the cover of the bedclothes.

"Darling, I have had a gorgeous swim with Bruce. Oh, it is good to be
home!" She kissed her mother and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I thought your friend's name was Roger."

"No, darling. It was Roger--Roger Bennion--who brought me home. I told
you all about it last night, but I expect I was too excited for you to
make sense of it. It was all so wonderful! He and his wife Ruth are the
grandest people I ever met."

"And I suppose they thought me a neglectful mother."

"Indeed they did not! I told them how marvellous you had been to me.
Those schools in France and Switzerland and then the gorgeous year with
Uncle Fred in New Zealand, before I really settle down. Of course, they
understood I could not be with you when you were on tour and all that!
They have seen you act and are longing to meet you They were simply sweet
to me!"

"How did you meet them?"

"That part of it is rather sad. You see, Ruth was to have had a baby. She
asked me to call her Ruth--she is not a great deal older than I am. But
she was in a car smash and that ended it. She was terribly ill for a long
time, but she is all right now."

"Was her husband driving the car?"

"Rather not. There would have been no accident if he had been. He is
super. Thinks and acts quicker than any one I have ever met. It was
another woman. He simply adores Ruth, and when she was well enough he
took her to New Zealand for the voyage."

"But why did he bring her home on a coal barge?"

Valerie laughed gaily.

"Not a coal barge, darling. A cargo boat. They send meat and butter and
all sorts of things to England. The boats are beautifully kept. The
journey is slower than by the liners, and Major Bennion thought the extra
time would be good for Ruth. He had got to know Uncle Fred and he said if
I would come back with them they would pay my fare and everything else.
He wanted there to be someone on the boat about Ruth's age to keep her
company. You see, they only take about a dozen passengers and you never
know who there will be."

"Why do they trouble about passengers at all if they can only take so
few?"

"I asked Bruce that. He says it is to maintain morale. The officers are
more likely to mind their table manners if there are strangers,
especially women, aboard. Of course, you do not have the gaieties of the
cruisers--that is why the Bennions preferred it--but there is lots of
deck space for games."

"And now," Amabel said, "tell me about Bruce."

"Bruce Kelsall," Valerie replied. "He is third officer, the nicest boy I
ever met."

"You met him this morning?"

"We had a swim in the Serpentine. I didn't know you could do that till he
told me. I am bringing him here soon. You will love him."

"Do you love him?" the mother asked.

"He is terribly nice and very good-looking."

"You are not engaged or anything like that?"

"Oh, no, darling," Valerie said quite frankly, though she flushed a
little. "We are too young."

"You are, much too young. It is not very happy to be married to a sailor,
and I do not think third officers are well paid. What are his people?"

"He hasn't any, poor lamb. At least he has an uncle, but I don't suppose
he'll be much good to him, although he does own a block of flats,
Westbourne House in Sloane Street."

"Where?" asked Amabel sharply.

"Westbourne House, Sloane Street. Do you know it?"

"I used to know someone who lived there."

"This old uncle--his name is Pursey--lives there on the top floor among
the boxrooms. At least Bruce says he has made himself a sort of flat and
he is a kind of recluse and never sees anyone. Quite a weird old man and
I think he is a miser. Bruce means to look him up as they have only one
another in the world, but it is a case of no expectations."

"Anyway, dear, I shall be glad to see your Bruce." Valerie kissed her.

"I know you will like him. Oh, it is good to have a mummie again! You are
glad I am back?"

"I have always looked forward to it."

"Then we come to the serious part, darling. You have done so much for me.
Now you are going to ease off and I shall help you."

"How will you do that?" Amabel smiled.

"Of course I won't be much good at first, but if I go to the academy I
ought soon to be able to keep myself and that will be something."

"What academy?"

"Dramatic art," Valerie said.

Her mother did not immediately reply. The girl went on: "Don't say I am
no good, darling. It is what I have always wanted."

"Of course I don't say you are no good," Amabel answered slowly. "I am
only wondering what is best for you. The fees at these academies are
fairly high and there is no guarantee of steady employment."

"You have always done pretty well, Mummie. I know I can never be so
wonderful as you, but I'll make a jolly good try."

"My case is rather exceptional," her mother said. "I am not boasting; I
have little to boast of; but I had a chance and I took it. I have been
sixty years old for the past twenty years and I shall probably be the
same for the next twenty--when I shall really get there."

"I know. I told Ruth your real age and she would hardly believe me. She
thought you must be so much older."

"When I was a girl I had a small part in a play, and one of the
principals, an elderly woman, was knocked down on her way to the theatre.
She had no understudy and I took the part--I always enjoyed playing old
people and I suppose I did it pretty well. Anyway, they kept me at it,
and after that I had other parts of the same sort. In most casts there is
an old aunt, a grandmother or a frost-bitten spinster and I have played
them all. Not big parts, but necessary to the plot. Sometimes sweet and
sometimes sour. Make-up was important, but the voice and the slow
movements almost more so. I studied it until they said I was more genuine
than the real thing! As a result I never achieved fame, but I am always
in a job. The trouble with the academies is that they have to turn out a
genius every year or every term. What happens to them? A few keep going,
but there are new geniuses coming from the same machine to take their
places. The stage is cluttered with would-be Juliets, Ophelias and St.
Joans, and once you have been a star you do not care to play the
parlour-maid!"

"I would not mind being a parlour-maid," Valerie said in a low voice.
"What else can I do?"

"Some girls take up domestic science and get good appointments."

"I knew a girl who did that," Valerie cried. "She had the most wonderful
diplomas. She could make the most marvellous dishes, she could control an
enormous staff and cater for hundreds. Then she married a man who was
something in a bank and she had to do her own chores, darn his socks,
cook his kippers. What a waste!"

"No doubt she was a good wife and was happy. What about a secretarial
career? Your knowledge of French would be useful and shorthand and typing
are easily learnt. The fees are small and there are always good jobs to
be had."

Valerie jumped up and went to the window. There were tears in her eyes
and it was some moments before she turned round and spoke.

"What is the matter, Mummie darling? You are somehow different. Is there
any trouble you have not told me about? Are we dreadfully poor?"

"Of course not," Amabel said. "I only want you to be happy: The theatre
can be very disappointing."

"But I want it. It is in my blood."

"You shall have what you want."

Valerie threw her arms round her and kissed her.

"Thank you, darling! I won't disappoint you. I swear it."

The door opened and Croonie's head appeared. "S'pose you know yer bath's
gone cold? I'll run another."

CHAPTER II

THE CLAIM

A modern flat could be tucked away in a single room of one of the
mansions of a former generation. The designer, however, of Westbourne
House had been more generous with space than others of his fraternity. He
had planned only two flats on a floor and each flat had some really large
rooms. Even so, a tenant like Sir Lionel Cradon (to whom rent was of
little consequence) found it pleasant to take an entire floor to
accommodate his establishment.

Amabel Legh had passed up and down Sloane Street often enough to be
familiar with the outward appearance of Westbourne House, but she had
never actually called there until the day after her daughter returned to
live with her. She hesitated a moment and then she pushed the swing doors
and found herself in a marble hall. A porter was sitting on an oak seat.

"Lady Cradon?" she said.

"First floor," he replied, without getting up. He was a middle-aged man,
pasty-faced, wearing dark uniform trousers, a sleeved waistcoat, but no
coat or cap. His brown, close-cropped hair did not improve his
appearance. He was by no means the smart liveryman one might have
expected in the afternoon at such an address.

"Is she at home?" Amabel looked at him with a cold hauteur she knew well
how to assume.

"I believe she is." He rose slowly to his feet.

"Then perhaps you will either find out or will take me to her."

He made no reply, but led the way to the elevator. His attitude showed
that he thought people could well manage to get to the first floor by
themselves, or might at least work the automatic lift.

After her husband's death Lady Cradon had considered the advisability of
giving up one of her two flats. It would be a simple thing to brick up
the openings that united them and half the accommodation would be ample
for herself and her baby son. She had not instructed the agents to take
any steps in the matter, but had mentioned it tentatively to some of her
friends. Already there had been enquiries for it, and when she had an
unknown caller she thought it was probably a friend of a friend wanting a
home.

The door was opened by a maid and Amabel was shown into a spacious
sitting-room, luxuriously furnished with soft settees and costly rugs and
having many valuable ornaments and pictures. Lady Cradon was seated at a
small writing- table. She rose as her visitor entered. A handsome woman
in the mid-thirties, her ladyship was dressed in a plain but expensive
grey costume and wore a necklace of real pearls of considerable size.

"You are Lady Cradon?" Amabel said, seeing that the door had been closed.

"I am."

"So, in a way, am I. It is rather a strange and perhaps a painful story
that I have to tell you, but I hope you will realise that my intentions
are friendly."

Lady Cradon stared at her. She was not a particularly intelligent, but
she flattered herself she could generally manage her own affairs. No name
had been mentioned, yet she thought the face of her caller was not
entirely unfamiliar.

"Won't you sit down?" she said coldly.

Amabel did so and for a moment they regarded one another in silence.

"I am generally known as Amabel Legh. I am at present appearing at the
Regal Theatre, but I have been in a good many plays. You may have seen
some of them."

Lady Cradon had. She knew the name quite well. It accounted for the sense
of semi-recognition.

"I thought Miss Amabel Legh was considerably older," she said.

Amabel smiled. "On the stage I am. I am generally given elderly parts."

There was another moment of silence. In a far corner an old grandfather
clock was ticking. That was the only sound.

"Your husband, Sir Lionel, never mentioned me?"

"He did not. My husband was not interested in the theatre."

"That unfortunately, is true," Amabel said slowly. "I do not want to
shock you, but it is best to get to the point." She took a paper from her
bag. "This is a photographic copy of the certificate of marriage between
Lionel Cradon and myself. As you will see, the ceremony took place just
twenty years ago at a register office in Manchester, where you can, of
course, see the original."

She handed the paper over and Lady Cradon mechanically took it. That she
was shocked was true enough, but she did not at first realise its full
significance. There was no doubt what it purported to be. Lionel Edward
Cradon, widower, aged forty-one, and Amy Isabel Legh, spinster, aged
twenty-one. It was all in the usual form.

"This--this is not you. It is Amy Isabel Legh."

"I was christened Amy Isabel and at first I was billed in that way. When
I went to America they thought Amabel better. In some of my contracts
both names are used. I can show you them if you like."

Lady Cradon did not reply. Her mind did not seem to be working properly.
She looked first at the paper and then at the woman who had handed it to
her. She did not want to believe it. Could it be true?

"Perhaps I had better explain how it happened," Amabel said. "I am in
part to blame. There need be no hard feelings anywhere; it is only a
matter for arrangement."

Still Lady Cradon did not speak. It was too stupendous a thing to be
comprehended so suddenly. Lionel had loved her--she was convinced of
that. Was it credible that he had deceived her? She shrank from the
thought. He had always been so honest, so dependable.

"I was twenty when met him. I suppose I was attractive and he wanted to
marry me. I was on the stage and, as you just said, he was not interested
in the theatre. In fact he had had a Puritan upbringing and he
disapproved of it. But that did not lessen his urge to marry me. He did
it secretly, convinced that after the wedding he would be able to
persuade me to give it up. But I could not. It was my life, and, of
course, he was not particularly rich then. The wealth and the title did
not come till many years later. He would not tell his friends and
relations that he had married an actress, and he did all he could to
bring me to his way of thinking. We lived together as opportunity
offered, but with such a fundamental difference between us we were not
particularly happy.

"Please do not think I am blaming him. He was a good man and was in most
things very kind, but we really had little in common. If his business
talk bored me, no doubt my stage chatter bored him. It is no use going
into that. I see you still have that grandfather clock; I was with him
when he bought it. He was crazy on clocks. I sometimes wondered if he
still liked having his back scratched as he did when I was with him. Poor
soul; he had rather an irritable skin."

Lady Cradon stiffened. She resented these personal comments, yet they
carried some conviction, for they were true.

"The trouble came," Amabel went on, "when I was invited to join a company
to tour America. Lionel objected, but I was determined to go. And I did.
I said if I was not a success, I would come back and try to settle down
to the sort of life he wanted. Then I was killed. Not actually, of
course, but he thought I was. I do not know what steps he took to verify
the fact, or if he was more relieved than sorry. Anyway, the blame was
mine."

She paused. Lady Cradon was watching her, breathing heavily, saying
nothing.

"What happened was that our company chartered a motor coach to take us
from town to town, as they did in those days, and on one of our first
runs the coach was wrecked. Some of us were killed, some concussed and
all more or less injured. In the confusion my name was included among the
dead and the news was cabled to England. Lionel did not question its
truth, though actually I was not very badly hurt.

"Of course it was wrong of me, but I dreaded going back to the life he
wished. Amy Isabel Legh was dead but Amabel Legh was born. I was tempted
to change my mind again when I found I was to have a baby, but I met some
very kind friends and I let things remain as they were. I was lucky. I
have heard of similar cases where the baby was lost after such an
accident, but probably things were more advanced. My baby was a girl, and
when she was old enough to ask about it I told her her father had been an
American actor who had died."

"Perhaps you told her the truth," Lady Cradon muttered.

Amabel looked at her for a few moments in silence.

"I thought you might say that," she said quietly, "but I hoped you would
not. I have tried to speak without bitterness or reproach to anyone but
myself. But I do not have to reproach myself with that. My little Valerie
was a sweet child, and after a time we returned to England. I did not see
Lionel. Amabel Legh appeared in a good many plays, but, as the theatre
had no appeal for him, he would not connect her with his lost Amy
Isabel--even if he heard of, her, which I do not suppose he did."

"You mean that Sir Lionel never heard this preposterous story of yours?"

"Can you call it preposterous in view of the marriage certificate, which
you will naturally verify? But I did not mean that at all. Lionel did
hear of it, but not until after he had married you. I saw him and I told
him. He, of course, did not question it. How could he? I had changed very
much. But it put him in a very difficult position. He had committed
bigamy. However innocent he may have been, that in the eyes of the law
was the fact."

"There is such a thing as desertion," Lady Cradon said.

"I told him that," Amabel replied. "He could bring an action for divorce
against me and no doubt he would have won it. He could then remarry you.
But to do all that he would have had to admit his bigamy. There would
probably have been no penalty, but he hated the publicity. And it did not
improve matters that his former wife, still living, was an actress. He
saw another way out."

"What was that?" was the swift enquiry.

"This, of course, was before your baby was born. I believe you were
married some years before that happened?"

"Eight."

"Exactly. Lionel may have thought he was unlikely to have a son to
inherit his title. My Valerie certainly could not do so. He thought it
simplest to pay me to hold my tongue."

"He paid you?"

"He did. Quite a substantial sum."

"Then why have you come to me?"

"He left me and his daughter nothing in his will. Legally I am Lady
Cradon."

"Then who am I?"

"I suppose," Amabel said coldly, "you are Miss Eleanor Patwick. Your
little boy is Lionel Patwick."

"How dare you say to me?" the lady cried, her face suffused with anger.

"I am not responsible for the law." Amabel was still quite calm. "I have
made some enquiries and it seems to me there should be enough for us all.
If I were to claim my rights I should be Lady Cradon, but I do not want
to be Lady Cradon. I would far rather be who I am. There is no doubt my
daughter could not inherit the title, so there is nothing in that. I see
no reason why we should not keep this thing to ourselves. They say there
is a skeleton in every cupboard. Let us leave it there. Give me twenty
thousand pounds and I swear no one shall ever hear a word of it from me."

"Twenty thousand pounds!"

"I do not think I am putting the figure too high. If I made my claim I
should be entitled to more than that as Lionel's widow. I believe he left
nearly half a million before tax was paid. You might get something; it
would depend on the wording of the will. Your wee son would get nothing,
as he was not born in wedlock. There is another thing. The title would
pass to Andrew Cradon, Lionel's brother. I happen to know Andrew quite
well, although he has not the remotest idea that I am his sister-in-law.
He has always thought he should have had the baronetcy. He was the
younger brother, but he did, or thought he did, most of the work of the
firm that led to the award. He got an O.B.E. He is terribly keen on this
Society of Peacemakers he has started. He would value the title for that.
How much do you suppose he would pay me if I took him my story?"

"Andrew hates me," Lady Cradon muttered.

"I don't know that he hates you," Amabel said, "but I doubt if he loves
you. For a good many years he was his brother's heir. Even when Lionel
married--or thought he married--you, there was still a long gap before
any offspring appeared. Then, just before his death, your baby arrived.
Is it surprising Andrew was peeved? I do not want to go to him. I do not
want to be Lady Cradon. I do not want to stir up a lot of unpleasantness
about Lionel. But I do want twenty thousand pounds. Is not my offer a
fair one?"

"I have not got twenty thousand pounds," Lady Cradon moaned.

"You could get it."

"But I can't. Mr. Angell explained it all to me most carefully. The
money is not mine; it is held by trustees. He is a trustee. All I get is
the income, and that, after tax is paid, is not such a great deal."

"I have stated my terms," Amabel said coldly. "I do not ask for an
immediate reply. You will want time to check what I have told you. You
may wish to consult Mr. Angell. Is he a solicitor?"

Lady Cradon nodded.

"Perhaps you had better consult someone else. The trustee-solicitor will
probably say my claim must be investigated and he will not pay you
anything until that is done. Then, of course, I should be compelled to
stand on my rights and your son will lose everything. A solicitor could
not make a bargain about a title. But if we come to a private
arrangement, known only to you and myself, it could all be happily
settled. I do not want to force you into any thing. There may be someone
you could consult in absolute confidence. I am quite willing to wait for
a few days."

"What must I do? What must I do?" Lady Cradon spoke in the same moaning
fashion. She could not disbelieve the story she had heard, yet she could
not run the risk of losing everything for herself and her baby.

At that moment the door opened and a nurse came in with a bundle in her
arms.

"Oh, I am sorry," she murmured. "I did not know you were engaged. I have
just brought baby in."

"Is this the wee Sir Lionel?" Amabel asked, getting up to inspect the
little man, who regarded her with blue eyes and gave her an approving
coo. "What a sweet baby!"

"Take him to the nursery, Florrie," Lady Cradon said. "I will come
presently."

"I will not keep you," Amabel remarked, putting a card on a table. "There
is nothing more to say. No doubt I shall hear from you in a few days.
That is my address."

CHAPTER III

UNCLE ROBERT

Lady Cradon felt outraged, bewildered and frightened. Surely no woman
could experience anything more appalling than to be suddenly told her
marriage was no marriage, her son illegitimate, and the fortune and title
she thought hers belonged in law to others. She meant to fight, but how
was she to do it? What her visitor had said about Godfrey Angell she felt
to be true. He was a stern stickler for probity. If she told him of the
rival claim he would insist on a full investigation. If he found the
claim could be substantiated, would he--could he--resist it? Would he
even agree to the compromise Miss Legh had suggested? Might he not regard
it as a fraud on the public? She shrank from going to him, yet to whom
else could she turn? To tell the story to another might put herself
completely in that person's power. Surely, surely, there must be some way
out. Every thing could not come to an end so suddenly after so many
years.

Amabel had no sense of disquiet as she left the flat. All had happened as
she had expected, perhaps a little less stormily than she had feared. It
was a pity the money was tied up with trustees, but she did not doubt
that Lady Cradon, after she had gone carefully into the matter, would
manage to realise enough to satisfy her.

She did not use the lift but walked down the stairs. When she reached the
hail she heard two men talking. One was the porter, the other a bronzed,
broad-shouldered young fellow in the early twenties. A third man,
standing by the lift gate, she took to be an assistant porter.

"I am sorry, Mr. Kelsail, but it is quite impossible for you to see him
without an appointment. He is probably asleep and there would be no
answer if you went to the door," She heard the porter say this. His
manner was more deferential than it had been when addressing herself.

"Is there no one looking after him?"

"My wife does for him, but she is out."

"I could come in the morning."

"I should not do that, sir. Mr. Pursey does not get up very early. If you
come in the afternoon at this time I will tell him to expect you and I do
not doubt he will see you."

"Very well, I will come then. How is he?"

The porter hesitated. "I think his health is quite good, but he does not
go out very much, except for a stroll in the evening."

At that moment Amabel stepped forward. "Is it Mr. Bruce Kelsall?" she
asked.

"It is," the bronzed young man said in surprise. Then he looked at her.
"Are you--can you be--Valerie's mother?"

"I can be and I am," she smiled.

"Oh!" Perhaps he was a little embarrassed. "Are you going out? May I come
with you?"

"1 would like you to. I have just been calling on Lady Cradon."

"Thank you." Then he called to the porter, who had joined his assistant,
"Strawn, tell my uncle I'll be along tomorrow afternoon."

"Very good, sir."

Bruce opened the door and he and Amabel went out.

"I have heard quite a lot about you from Valerie," she said pleasantly.

"I hope you don't mind my taking her out a bit while I am in London? I
really have no friends here, but I want to see my uncle before I sail
again. Do you know him?"

"Not at all. I have never been to the flats until this afternoon, when I
had a matter of business to discuss with Lady Cradon. Your uncle is the
owner of the block, isn't he?"

"Yes, but he keeps out of the way. Leaves things to the porter."

"Rather eccentric?"

"He always has been, but he seems to be getting worse. He lives alone in
the top of the building, and according to Strawn, who has been here for
years, he hardly sees anybody. He was my mother's brother and I know she
would have liked me to look him up."

"Of course she would," Amabel said. "You are in the Navy?"

"The Merchant Navy."

"Why not the Royal Navy?"

"Not good enough," he grinned. "I went to the naval college, but there
are not a lot of vacancies, and unless you pass almost at the top of the
list Her Majesty does not want you. I was two places down."

"Bad luck," Amabel said, "but you meant to go to sea, all the same?"

"Oh yes, rather!"

"You come of a sea-faring family?"

"My father commanded a ship that was torpedoed in the early days of the
war. My grandfather married a Norwegian lady who had Viking blood in her
veins. A great-great-great-grandfather was a very successful pirate. He
somehow got away with it, and settled down in Cornwall and was highly
respected. It must have been a grand life!"

He had a merry way of speaking, and Amabel liked him. "No hidden treasure
in some remote corner of the world that you can recover?" she smiled.

"Never heard of it."

"Well, so long as your motto is not 'Once aboard the lugger and the girl
is mine,’ we ought to be friends."

"That is jolly decent of you. You don't mind about me and Val?"

"Not within the limits mentioned."

"Thanks awfully. I say, ought I to call you Miss Legh or Mrs. Legh?"

"It is rather confusing, isn't it? I should stick to Miss Legh for the
present. If you can find a taxi we might go home and Valerie could give
us tea."

"That's fine."

Valerie was surprised and undoubtedly pleased when they walked in
together.

"Don't try to steal him," she said to her mother. "I found him first."

Amabel showed him round the little home while the kettle was boiling and
they were soon sitting down to a merry meal.

"What a wonderful flat," Bruce said. "You must have been lucky to get
it."

"I was," Amabel agreed.

"If my mother had had a place like this she might still be alive. She
wore herself out trying to keep an old-fashioned home in what she thought
the right way. Here you have everything you want just where you want it.
Easy to do it all yourself."

"Mummie doesn't quite do that," Valerie said. "She has a ministering
angel who arrives on the tick every morning and does not leave until she
has seen her eat a good lunch."

"She mothers me delightfully," Amabel laughed. "She is really an old
friend."

"Why is it that domestic help is so hard to get?" Bruce asked.

"There are a good many reasons for it," Amabel said. "One is that the
girls did not get a fair deal in the old days and another that they
prefer jobs where they have their evenings free. I am afraid the stage
was partly responsible for it."

"How so, Mummie?" Valerie asked.

"In plays and at the music-halls the maids were generally depicted as
illiterate and semi-imbecile, generally with adenoids. It raised easy
laughs and frightened girls from their natural calling. I am hoping to do
something about it."

"What can you do, darling?"

"A friend of mine, Andrew Cradon, has started what he calls the Society
of Peacemakers. He doesn't touch politics, but he tries to patch up
family quarrels and to settle strikes. I told him to prevent family
quarrels he must get the right people to marry. He should impress on
young men that they would have more chance of a happy home with a cook or
a housemaid than with a girl who sold odds and ends in a shop, or did
some job in a factory, or even thumped a typewriter. Better a
home-trained girl than the snappiest tin-opener who ever lived."

"Wonderful! What is Mr. Cradon doing about it?"

"He wants me to give some lectures, perhaps to be broadcast. Of course,
the girls must have proper conditions, and it cannot be done in a minute,
but if we could get the young men to listen I believe it would not be
long before the girls returned to the homes."

"You never told me!" Valerie exclaimed.

"Nothing may come of it. Mr. Cradon has his hands full."

"It sounds good to me," Bruce said. "You were seeing Lady Cradon about
it?"

"Not exactly," Amabel smiled, "though it might have an indirect effect.
She is related to Andrew Cradon by marriage."

"Mummie wanted me to take up domestic science instead of going on the
stage. What do you think about that, Bruce?"

The young man was a little embarrassed. He wished to please them both.

"It must be awfully important for a girl to know how to run a home," he
said. "On the other hand, we want good actresses and a girl with real
talent--"

He left it at that. They both laughed and agreed he was right.

The following afternoon he was punctual for his call at Westbourne House.
The porter was not about, but his assistant said Mr. Pursey was expecting
him. He took him up in the lift and explained, as Bruce already knew,
that it did not reach the top floor, the final ascent being by a narrow
staircase.

Bruce went up and pressed the bell at the door that confronted him. It
was speedily opened by a middle-aged woman he took to be Mrs. Strawn, the
porter's wife. She was rather slovenly dressed, and his first impression
was that the place was not very well looked after. The rooms may have
been originally intended for boxrooms, but the conversion into a
residential suite had been well carried out. He found himself in a little
hall that was almost bare of furniture, though bright and airy.

"Mr. Pursey is in? I am his nephew."

"Yes, sir. He is expecting you."

She opened a door on the left. She did not announce him: that probably
was unnecessary.

"Well, Uncle, how are you? I am just back from New Zealand and I thought
I would like to know you were all right. I called yesterday, but I was
told you were not seeing anyone."

The sole occupant of the room was an elderly man who sat huddled in a
chair near the window. He appeared to be heavily built, but there was a
rug over his knees. His face was florid, a fact made more notable by his
thick white hair. He had heavy spectacles and was wearing a dark coat and
waistcoat. His shirt had a collar attached, but it was unbuttoned and
without a tie, a style of dress he had always favoured. Bruce had spoken
cheerily and stepped forward to shake a limp, unresponsive hand.

"What do you want?" came in slow harsh tones.

"I want to know that you are quite well. I promised Mother I would always
come to see you when I was home. You have not changed much since I last
saw you."

"Your mother imagined I would leave you my money. I suppose you think
that, too."

"We never gave it a thought, Uncle Robert. You will live for years yet to
enjoy it yourself."

"No one ever calls on me unless they want something," was the rasping
reply.

"All I want," Bruce said, laughing, "is that you will come out to dinner
with me. I haven't any amazing adventures to talk about, but we had some
interesting experiences."

"I never go out to dinner."

'Why not make a change? On the boat home we had a delightful girl,
Valerie Legh, who is the daughter of Amabel Legh, the actress. She is
appearing at the Regal Theatre and I believe it is a very good play. We
could go to see her."

"I don't go to theatres."

"But, Uncle, you must go out sometimes. An occasional change is good for
all of us - unless, of course, your doctor forbids it."

"I don't have a doctor."

There was a pause. Bruce glanced round the room. It was barely furnished
and comfortless, even more so than when he had called nearly a year
before. Not exactly dirty, yet far from spruce and clean. He felt a
little sorry for the old man who lived in these surroundings, even if it
was of his own choice. It was not easy to talk brightly with such a lack
of encouragement. He tried again.

"Strawn tells me his wife looks after you. Has she any help?"

"She doesn't need any."

"She makes you comfortable?"

"I get all the comfort I want or can afford, taxes being what they are."

"You are sure there is nothing I can do for you? Any books or anything
like that?"

"I did not ask you to call. There is nothing I want, except to be left
alone."

Another pause. There was no suggestion of hospitality of any kind. The
harsh voice had said no word of welcome or goodwill. It was not much use
pressing an unwilling man.

"You are quite sure you will not come out with me anywhere? I could fetch
you in a taxi and bring you back."

"I am quite sure."

"I am sorry," Bruce said, sincerely enough. "You and I are the only ones
left of our family, and it is a nice feeling that there is someone to
come home to."

The man looked at him in his expressionless way, but did not reply.

"I do not quite know when we shall be sailing. We expect to make a long
journey across to the States, through the Panama Canal, and back to New
Zealand. But I would like to see you again before I go."

"You would only be wasting your time." Bruce got up.

"Well, Uncle, I won't stay any longer. I am sorry you are not more
pleased to see me. But please understand this: I want nothing from you.
Should you want me I am at Durand's Hotel, Gloucester Road. But I have no
wish to intrude. Goodbye."

The hand was not held out to him and he made no attempt to take it. He
walked to the door, paused a moment, and went out. There was no word to
detain him.

In the hall he saw Mrs. Strawn. He wondered if she had been listening to
their conversation.

"Is my uncle in his normal health?" he asked her.

"I should say so. He never complains."

There was something defensive in her tone, as though she scented
criticism.

"He lives very much alone?"

"He prefers it."

"Does he never go out?"

"He sometimes takes a stroll in the evening."

"I see. This is my address, care of the Steam Company. A letter there
will always find me, though it may take time. I would like to know if he
is ever ill or asks for me."

"Very good, sir."

"Take care of him."

She did not reply and he went out. He walked down all the stairs to the
street, for the lift was in use. Little Sir Lionel had just returned from
his afternoon outing.

CHAPTER IV

DISAPPEARANCE!

THE NEXT  day, Friday, Bruce and Valerie became involved in a startling
affair that was to have very remarkable repercussions.

In the morning Bruce called on a Mr. Punchon, a solicitor, who had acted
in connection with his mother's slender estate. There were some documents
to be signed. Mr. Punchon was a genial, fatherly man who had known the
family for many years.

"That's all, my boy," he beamed. "A bit difficult to do business for a
client who is here one day and in Toronto or New Zealand the next."

"We don't travel quite so fast as that," Bruce smiled, "not in our
boats."

"No jet-propelled merchant ships yet; we may come to it. Don't forget to
look in whenever you are home. I shall always glad to see you."

"Thank you, sir. There is one thing I wanted to ask you. Do  you act for
my uncle, Robert Pursey?" Mr. Punchon said he did. "Is he all right?"

"In what way do you mean--all right?"

"It is not easy to say. I called on him yesterday at his flat and he
practically said he did not want to see me again. We had never been
particularly fond of one another, but we had always got on fairly well."

"How long is it since you last saw him?"

"About a year. Our parting then was friendly enough. Now he seems to be
living in such--I won't say squalor, but discomfort. He is really quite
well off, isn't he?"

"Your uncle is a queer man and I daresay he gets queerer as the years go
by. I am sorry he was so disagreeable but he has always been abrupt and
stand-offish. I should not call him wealthy, but he owns those flats and
they ought to provide him with a fair income. I do not think he has much
else. The part of his rents not swallowed by rates is largely claimed for
taxes. The laws are very unfair, but a Cabinet Minister said some time
ago he was not concerned with justice for landlords."

"Uncle Robert hinted at something of that sort. But he need not have
taken it out on me. When did you last see him?"

"I have had no reason for seeing him for quite a time. We occasionally
have a lease for him to sign, or something of that sort, and I send it to
his flat by a clerk who acts as witness, or possibly Strawn, the porter,
does."

"Is Strawn reliable? His wife seems to do the work of the flat, so far as
it is done."

"They have been there for some years. Mr. Pursey seems satisfied with
them."

"Does my uncle collect the rents and that sort of thing?"

"No. He leaves the business to his agents in Sloane Street, Watsons. I
believe they send him a quarterly account. He hates to meet his tenants:
they might ask for something."

"That is why he only goes out at nights?" Bruce asked.

"Is that so? I was not aware of it, but I gather he is becoming more of a
recluse. Don't let it worry you. You cannot do anything about it."

"It worries me rather. My mother always said he was a lonely old man and
we ought to keep in touch with him. But if he is in fairly good health
and has enough money to live decently, I must leave it at that."

"You could ask Watsons about him if you like," Mr. Punchon said. "I think
they find him rather a tough nut where expenses are concerned."

"Do you?" Bruce asked.

Mr. Punchon laughed. "When leases are granted it is still the happy
privilege of the tenants to pay for them, so that does not worry him."

Bruce had arranged to meet Valerie for lunch and then to take her to a
cinema. At lunch he told her of his interview with his uncle the previous
day.

"Fancy treating his only relative like that," Valerie commented. "I
suppose he is really a bit cracked. If he hates the sight of his tenants,
why doesn't he live somewhere else?"

"It costs him nothing to live where he is. I wanted to take him out but
he refused."

"Stupid old skinflint," Valerie said. "I expect he thought you were
paving the way to borrow something."

"Maybe it was that. I did not care much for Mrs. Strawn. A masterful sort
of female. I hope she does not get him under her thumb."

"Not easy, I imagine!"

"If we get out in time I think I will call at Watsons', his agents, to
see what they can tell me."

"What can they tell you?"

"I don't know. But I would not like to go away without making sure that
the old fellow is really all right and properly looked after. He might
have piles of debts and be too proud to let anyone know of it. Not that I
could do much for him in that way, but my mother said they had been good
friends when they were young."

"It is more likely that he has grown into a thorough miser. He has hoards
of money stored away in those boxes."

"I doubt it," Bruce said. "What have you been doing?"

"I have arranged for an audition at the Dramatic Academy. I am trembling
with excitement. Shall I pass?"

"Of course you will. Your mother's daughter could not fail."

"I hope you are right. She has promised to coach me in the pieces I have
to say."

"I wish I could hear you."

"I am glad you can't," she laughed. "I am terrified enough already."

They were out of the cinema in ample time to go to the estate agents, but
fate willed they were not to get there--anyway, not that day. The film
had been rather a depressing one--it is odd that producers of
entertainment so often think people like to be saddened. They went by
underground railway to Sloane Square and proceeded to walk up Sloane
Street. It was raining slightly, but that did not worry them. Bruce was
wondering just what he should say to Messrs. Watsons. He had a queer
feeling about it--if he pursued his enquiries would it appear as
genuinely concern for his uncle or only about his possible inheritance?
Valerie was thinking of her coming ordeal and also that she would miss
Bruce quite a lot when he left.

They spoke very little, but as they approached Westbourne House, which
faces the Gardens, they both saw a girl coming towards them, wheeling a
perambulator. It was an expensive affair with white enamelled panel-work.
The hood was up. The girl reached the entrance to the flats just before
they did. She stopped and made to take her baby from its cushioned nest.
Then she screamed.

The porter of the flats, Strawn, came down the steps just as Bruce and
Valerie joined her. It was usual for the girl to carry the baby into the
building, while the perambulator was taken in by the porter or his
assistant. She screamed again.

"It is a doll! Where is my baby?"

She seemed distraught, as well she might be

"What has happened?" the porter asked. Bruce and Valerie stood by,
waiting for the answer.

"Someone has taken my baby! This is a doll!"

What the said was true enough. The figure lying in the perambulator was a
large doll, about the size of a young baby.

"Where have you come from?" Bruce asked.

"From the shops. I only left it for a minute. The woman said she would
wait. But she was gone. What must I do? What must I do? What will Lady
Cradon say?"

She spoke almost hysterically and the tears came coursing down her
cheeks.

"What shop was it?" Valerie asked. "Can we make enquiries for you?"

"It was--it was the Stores. At the top. I've come straight back. I must
go and ask."

"Her ladyship is not in," Strawn said. "I had best take this in when you
go. It's a very queer thing."

"Can we go with you?" Valerie suggested. "The baby can't have gone far."

"I know the landlord here," Bruce said. "I know he would wish us to help
you."

The girl made no answer, and, half-running, half-walking, they went off
together. In choking, disjointed sentences she told her strange story.

On her way home from the usual walk in the park she had to make a small
purchase in the popular Knightsbridge Stores, near the top of Sloane
Street. She pushed the pram into the shop, as so many did. Her baby was
Sir Lionel, the son of Lady Cradon. She made her purchase and was just
outside again when an assistant came running after her. There had been a
slight mistake: would the nurse slip back and see the assistant who
served her. She would mind the pram while she was away.

Puzzled, but quite unsuspicious, she had gone back. The assistant was
attending to someone else and she had to wait a few moments. Then the
assistant said there had been no mistake; she had not sent for her.
Running out again she saw the pram, but the other girl had gone. Being
rather late, she hurried for home.

Such, in effect, was her tale, told in jerky, tear-choked phrases. She
was obviously shocked, frightened, and almost distracted.

"Did you not look at the baby when you came out of the shop?" Bruce
enquired.

"No--yes--I think I did. I don't know. The hood was up. It had started to
rain. I pushed it from the back."

"You hadn't left the pram while you were in the park?" he asked.

"Oh no. Not for a moment."

The Stores was about to close for the night when they got there. They
made such enquiries as they could but no light was thrown on the matter.
Bruce saw the manager, who expressed himself as very concerned when he
heard the amazing story, for Lady Cradon was a valued customer. The
nurse, whose name was Florrie Spaight, identified the assistant who had
served her. The girl confirmed the facts so far as she was concerned and
repeated what she had said before. The purchase was a simple one and she
had no anyone to fetch the customer back.

"What made you think it was one of our girls who came after you?" the
manager said.

"She--said so--she was dressed like them," Florrie faltered.

"Could you recognise her?"

"I--I don't know."

"A good many of the girls have gone. You can watch the others as they
leave."

As the staff had their own special exit, this was easily done, but poor
bewildered Florrie could not identify any one of the cheery throng,
anxious to get to their homes and pleasures.

"I will have further enquiries made in the morning," the manager said. "I
cannot believe that any of our girls would have acted in such a way.
Please assure Lady Cradon of that and of my real sympathy. I hope,
however, it is only a stupid and wicked practical joke and will be
cleared up before the night is over."

Bruce and Valerie accompanied Florrie Spaight back to the flat. They
hoped that the suggestion of a practical joke would prove correct and
that the baby would already have been taken home. This, unhappily, was
not the case.

Bruce told Lady Cradon of their enquiries, explaining that he was Mr.
Pursey's nephew. The porter had already told her the facts, so far as
they were known. She was almost speechless with grief and shock. Bruce
asked if she had informed the police of the matter and if there was any
thing he could do to help her.

She shook her head and showed them a scrap of paper she had found pinned
to the garment worn by the doll. It was in printed characters and said:

'If you wish to see your little boy again do nothing until you get a
message. Meanwhile he will be well cared for.'

"I must wait," she said dully.

"Bruce," said Valerie when they left, "we must go to the Bennions to tell
them what has happened. They asked me to call. If anyone can help that
poor woman it is Major Bennion."

CHAPTER V

ROGER BENNION'S CALL

WHEN they were married Roger and Ruth Bennion had occupied a flat in
Sloane Street, where he had lived in his bachelor days. It was not in
Westbourne House, but not far from it. Ruth, however, did not much like a
home without a garden and when they knew a baby was to be expected they
had moved to a little house in Egerton Terrace that had quite a pleasant
garden of its own. It gave Ruth pleasure to cultivate it, despite the
opposition of London smoke, and they thought it would be happier for
their baby to be able to enjoy fresh air without being pushed through the
streets. Their hopes, as Valerie had told her mother, had been tragically
disappointed

Like other parts of London, the Egerton estate has a history of its own.
The land on the side of the Brompton Road, where it stands, was
originally known as Flounders Fields, from its usually moist and muddy
condition. It was part of the estate of that noble citizen, Henry Smith,
who left such a rich heritage for charity. At the end of the eighteenth
century Michael Novosielski, architect of the Royal Italian Opera House,
built himself a spacious residence there, which he called The Grange. He
also built a number of small houses adjoining it, which he honoured with
his own name, Michael's Grove. Nearly a hundred years later Egerton Place
was built on the site of the former Grove and Egerton Gardens on land
adjacent. They were the last word in red-brick elegance and each house
possessed a bathroom of its own, no mean boast in those days. Some older
nearby properties, to share this new respectability, adopted the name.
Brompton Crescent, mainly second-rate lodging houses, smartened itself
into Egerton Crescent, and Michael's Grove, which had acquired a rough
reputation, started afresh as Egerton Terrace.

Flounders Fields had been a resort of thieves and footpads. The largest
abode in Egerton Gardens, Mortimer House, has now become a centre for the
collection of income-tax. Whether this can be cited as an example of
reversion to type is an interesting speculation. Who the Egerton was who
gave the name to this select area is not known.

Egerton Terrace, although no longer admitting its indebtedness to
Michael, its begetter, has two charms that it owes to him. Many of the
houses have gardens and the whole forms a cul-de-sac quiet unusual so
close to one of London's thoroughfares. It was for these reasons the
Bennions had bought a home there.

The voyages to and from New Zealand had restored Ruth to her former
health, and they were sitting together in their drawing-room when the
visitors were announced. They were Valerie Legh, who had a very high
opinion of Roger's talents, and Bruce Kelsall.

After some banter Roger produced drinks.

"Cocktail?" he asked with his quizzical smile. "Or does the good
resolution still stand?"

"It still stands," she said. "I make no rash vows, but I shall keep off
drink and smoking as long as I can."

"Good girl. You, Bruce?"

"Thank you, sir."

"We meant to come tomorrow," Valerie said, "but some thing very queer
happened today and we thought we would like to ask you about it Bruce's
uncle owns Westbourne House in Sloane Street and one of the tenants is
Lady Cradon. While the maid was out with her baby, someone stole him from
the pram and left a big doll in his place."

"You really mean that!" Ruth exclaimed. "Stole the baby? How could they?"

"The nurse was lured away for a few minutes. She did not notice it until
she got back to the flats and went to lift the baby out."

"Have they been able to find it?"

"So far not a trace."

"What an appalling, incredible thing!" Ruth said. "How awful for Lady
Cradon. I knew her quite well when we were in Sloane Street. She and I
were expecting our babies at the same time. What is she doing about it?"

"Nothing," Valerie said. "She is afraid to. I suppose she is waiting to
hear what is demanded as ransom." She and Bruce related the story, just
as it happened, telling of the visit to the Stores and the note that was
pinned to the doll's clothing, forbidding any further action until the
mother heard from the kidnappers.

"Kidnapping is a remarkable thing to happen in broad daylight in a busy
London street," Roger said thoughtfully. "Is the nurse entirely to be
trusted? In some cases they have planned the whole thing or been
recruited as accessories to it."

"I think Florrie is reliable. She could not have planned it; it came as a
shock to her. I happened to be on the spot when she looked for the baby
and found the doll. She seemed absolutely astounded. It was genuine
enough, wasn't it, Bruce?"

"I think it was," he said. "There would have been no reason for her to
put on an act for our benefit, and I doubt if she could have done it. She
seemed a simple girl, probably from the country."

"And there is the fact that she left the pram and went back into the
shop. We saw the girl who had served her."

"A remarkable thing to happen in broad daylight in a busy London street."
Roger said thoughtfully. "Terrible indeed for Lady Cradon. You say she
has not gone to the police?"

"She is  afraid to," Valerie replied.

"What can you do to help her, Roger?" his wife asked.

"What can I do?" he echoed. "She must go to the police."

"Could you not tell her that?" Ruth said. "Think what we should have felt
had it been ours."

"Lady Cradon should disregard what it said in the note?" Valerie asked.

"Certainly," Roger said emphatically. "The sooner the police start their
enquiries the more likely they are to find the little chap."

"I wish we could help," Valerie murmured. "Don't you, Bruce?"

"Indeed I do," he said; "but Major Bennion is right. The police can put
out enquiries in every direction, in the papers and by radio. The less
time lost the better."

"I do hope the baby is being properly cared for," Ruth added "The note
said that he would be, but can you be sure?"

Soon after that Bruce and Valerie left, promising to report any further
information they might gain. As they had their evening meal Ruth said to
Roger:

"I am so worried about Lady Cradon. Won't you go round to see if there is
any news, or if you can do anything for her?"

"Do you really wish me to?"

"I do, darling."

"You are not forgetting that you asked me to keep clear of sleuthing and
such things?" he smiled.

"This is different," she said. "At least I hope it is. Why do people
commit such wicked crimes?"

"Most crimes are committed for gain. Valerie is probably right in saying
that a demand for payment will follow. The trouble is that, whatever is
behind it, the delay helps the villains concerned to cover their traces."

"So you will tell Lady Cradon that she must take immediate action?" Ruth
pleaded.

"All right, darling, I will."

It is not many minutes' walk from Egerton Terrace to Sloane Street, and,
knowing Lady Cradon's flat was on the first floor, Roger went straight up
and rang the bell.

The door was opened by an elderly woman who said she was doubtful if Lady
Cradon could see anyone.

"She has no news of her little boy?"

"No, sir," the woman said.

"Would you please tell her I have called? My wife and I are very grieved
to hear of her trouble. My wife thought perhaps we could help her."

If Lady Cradon declined to see him, that was that. But the woman returned
and showed him into the room where Lady Cradon and Florrie Spaight were
sitting. The latter was still half crying; the former seemed frozen with
grief.

"Bruce Kelsall and a friend of his, who is also a friend of ours, told us
of your great trouble," Roger began. "I need not say how sorry we are.
Ruth insisted that I should come round in the hope that we might be able
to help you.

"How can you?" Lady Cradon asked hopelessly.

"I understand you have not yet notified the police?"

"No."

"I think it would be wise to do so, but I would like to ask a few
questions. Is this your nurse?"

"My nurse-companion, Florrie Spaight. She is the daughter of the
clergyman in our village."

"This has been a terrible experience for you, Florrie," Roger said
kindly. "You don't mind telling me about it?"

"No," she said with a suppressed sob. She was quite a nice-looking girl
and he thought it safe to dismiss the idea that she had been in any way a
party to the crime.

"Do you often go to those Stores when you are taking the baby out?"

"Perhaps two or three times a week."

"Often enough for people to know it was a thing you might do?"

"I suppose so."

"Always at that time?"

"About then. Generally on the way home."

"Have you ever before gone into the shop and left the pram outside?"

"Not unless Lady Cradon or someone else was with me, and then they
generally went in and I waited."

"Did that often happen?"

"No. I was generally by myself."

"You were, of course, surprised when the assistant, or the girl you took
for an assistant, came out and asked you to go back?"

"I was very surprised," Florrie said, with another sob.

"But as she offered to look after the pram, you went?"

"Yes. They don't really like prams inside, though they allow them. But I
thought it would be quicker."

"I quite understand that. When you came out you did not really look at
the baby?"

"N-no. Not really. He--he was on his side, asleep; his face part covered.
I thought it was going to rain."

For a moment the tears overcame her.

"It was a cruel thing to happen," Roger said gently. "Probably anyone
else would have acted just as you did. But tell me this--Was it the same
perambulator?"

"I--I don't understand," she faltered. "There was only one."

"I know there was only one, but was it the same one? I am trying to
realise how it was done. Have you examined the perambulator and all the
cushions and rugs and things since you brought it back?"

Florrie and Lady Cradon looked at each other. It was the latter who
replied.

"I don't think we have. We picked up the doll with that message on it. We
did not look at anything else."

"Where is it?" Roger asked.

"Up here. The porter always brings it up. We are not supposed to leave it
downstairs."

"Would you look at it?"'

Lady Cradon rose and the girl went with her. In a few minutes they were
back. There was a queer puzzled look on their faces.

"It is not the same," Lady Cradon said. "It is exactly like it but there
were one or two marks on ours that are not there now and there is a cheap
underneath blanket that is not ours at all, The pillow is different."

"There were some toys in ours," Florrie added, "that are not there."

"What does it mean?" Lady Cradon murmured.

"It means," Roger answered, "that the whole affair was carefully planned
and perhaps the parties concerned have been waiting and watching for days
for their chance. I did not think anyone would risk exchanging a baby for
a doll in the sight of all the passers in a busy street, so your
discovery does not surprise me. Two women were probably involved. The
first, dressed as a shop girl, got Florrie to return to the Stores. The
second pushed up the similar pram with the doll in it and left it there,
pushing the other pram away. The pretended shop girl disappeared. It
would not be difficult to do it and no one would notice anything unless
they were paying special attention."

Lady Cradon and her helper looked at him, horror but realisation in their
eyes. They could picture the scene. They did not doubt it had happened
just as he described.

"I would like a few words with you alone, if you do not mind," Roger said
to Lady Cradon. He rose and opened the door as the girl, after a nod from
her employer, went out. "Do not worry too much," he added to her. "It was
a cruel trick, but I hope the baby will soon be home again."

He closed the door and turned to Lady Cradon.

"I trust you will see how important it is to inform the police at once.
You have many useful clues for them to work on. Your perambulator is
somewhere to be found and this second perambulator must have a
history--where it was procured and by whom. Each cushion and wrapping
will be considered and may give information. Everyone who was outside
that shop at that time this afternoon will be asked over the wireless and
in the press to with Scotland Yard if they saw anything that might throw
light on the matter."

Lady Cradon listened, but did not reply.

"I do realise the terrible unhappiness of your position," he went on.
"You do not want to take any action that might mean peril to your baby.
It is a cruel dilemma for any mother, but I am sure you would be wise to
notify the police immediately and then to act as they direct."

Still she said nothing.

"Kidnapping cases are rare in this country, but, when they happen, it is
not unusual for there to be some implied threat such as you received.
Probably no harm is meant for the child as there would be no gain in
that. Time is what is wanted. Time to find a safe hiding-place and to
work out the plan for getting payment."

"I must wait," Lady Cradon said in a tone so low as to be only just
audible.

For some moments they regarded one another in silence. The tick of the
grandfather's clock was the only sound to be heard. Roger was thinking
how she had changed since he had last seen her. Before his voyage to New
Zealand she had been a happy, healthy, good-looking woman. Not beautiful;
perhaps the old-fashioned word comely would best describe her. Now she
was much older, haggard, ravaged. Could the tragic happening of that
afternoon have had such woeful effect in so short a time?

Her thoughts were very different. Could she tell him? All she knew of
Major Bennion she liked, but could she trust him with the secret that was
burning her up? Absolute confidence--could she have that in anyone?

"The decision must rest with you," Roger said at last. "In my opinion it
is your duty, for your child's sake as well as your own, to go to the
police at once. What can be gained by delay? Remember, it is not only
ourselves who know of it. There are the people at the Stores. Such a
thing can not be kept secret. Soon everyone will be talking about it."

"I must wait," she said in that low, dull tone. "I know who did it."

CHAPTER VI

"I KNOW WHO DID IT!"

ROGER WAS not often taken completely by surprise, but such was certainly
the result on this occasion.

"You know?" he echoed. "Then what are you doing about it?"

She did not reply to his question. She faced him with another.

"Major Bennion, can you promise me that what I tell you will never be
revealed to anyone whatsoever without my permission?"

She spoke earnestly and he hesitated for a few moments before he replied.

"I never give promises of that kind. If you can trust me, tell me. If you
cannot trust me, do not tell me."

Again there was silence. Only the voice of the imperturbable grandfather
could be heard.

"I am in great difficulty. I want advice, but I do not know to whom to
turn. I have had no sleep for days."

"Before this happened?"

"Yes. Before this happened."

"Cannot you consult your solicitor?"

"I am afraid to. I hope you will help me."

She paused for some moments. Then she seemed to come to a decision.

"A few days ago a woman called and told me she really was Lady Cradon.
She had married my husband twenty years ago and he thought she was dead.
Therefore his marriage to me was in law no marriage and my son is not
able to bear his title. Much if not all of the estate should be hers, not
mine or my son's."

"Did this woman give any proof of her statement?" Roger asked.

"She left me a copy of the marriage certificate and said I could check it
for myself."

"Have you done so? Do you believe her story?"

"I have done nothing, but it seems it must be true. She made me a
proposal."

"What was that?"

"She said her daughter, who was Sir Lionel's daughter, could not inherit
the title, and she had no desire to alter her own life. If I would give
her twenty thousand pounds she would let things remain as they are. She
promised to wait a little time for my reply, but now, to compel me to
consent, she has stolen my son."

"You are assuming that?"

"Who else could it be?"

"It is strange, that the two things should happen almost at the same
time," Roger commented, "but there might be no connection. You say she
promised to wait for your reply. Can you tell me more of what she said?"

"She offered to wait while I got advice, but she said I had better not
mention it to my solicitor, who is the trustee for the estate. If I did,
he would insist on going into the whole affair and would probably not
allow me any more money and she would be compelled to withdraw her offer.
Is that true?"

"If her story was founded on fact," Roger said, "a complicated position
would arise. Your son would not inherit the title and probably the lawyer
would have to get the instructions of the court as to the disposal of
your husband's estate and the interpretation of his will."

"But could he not first test her story and then, if it was true, accept
her offer and pay her the money she asked for?"

"I am not a lawyer, but I doubt if that would be possible. He might come
to an arrangement about the money, but he could not bargain over the
title. And if your son does not inherit the title, the question would
arise, why not? It would be very difficult."

"But I cannot give her twenty thousand pounds. The money is in trust."

"Do you believe that if you give this woman twenty thousand pounds you
will get your baby back?"

"I do," Lady Cradon said. "But I told you I cannot get it. I must wait
till I hear from her."

"You may be right," Roger replied, "but I cannot quite see it that way.
If the woman's story is true, she probably has a good case for some share
of her husband's estate. She would not strengthen it by stealing your
baby. Rather the reverse. She would forfeit any sympathy she might
otherwise enjoy. Did you know anything of her before she called on you?"

"Not in connection with my husband. I have seen her on the stage. She is
an actress."

"Well known?"

"Fairly. She calls herself Amabel Legh."

"Who?" Roger cried. It was another big surprise for him.

"Amabel Legh. This is the marriage certificate. It gives her names as Amy
Isabel. She says Amabel is her stage name. Do you know her?"

"Not personally, but I know her daughter Valerie very well indeed. She
returned from New Zealand only a few days ago with Ruth and myself. She
is a most charming girl. It was she and Bruce Kelsall who went with your
nurse to the Stores and came to you afterwards."

"Perhaps she was in it," Lady Cradon said. "You thought there were two of
them. Naturally she was quickly on the scene."

"No," Roger said emphatically. "I am sure you are wrong there. Valerie
was very upset at what happened and wanted to help you. That is why she
came to me. I do not know her mother, but from what I have heard of her I
cannot think she is concerned in it either. She may have, or she may
think she has, some claim on the estate, but she would not be guilty of
such a wanton and senseless crime. Does Valerie know what her mother told
you--that she is Sir Lionel's child?"

"Miss Legh said she did not."

"I should imagine that is true. Tell me, Lady Cradon, your baby is more
precious to you than the title?"

"Need you ask? He is more precious than anything in the world."

"I am sure of it. And I am also sure it is useless for you to wait for a
letter from Amabel Legh. You really must inform the police."

"But the note says--"

"Disregard it. I will see Miss Legh at once myself. If I am convinced she
knows nothing about what happened this afternoon, you will then speak to
Scotland Yard, or let me do it for you. Is that agreed?"

"If you think so."

"I am sure it is the only thing to do. It may mean unpleasant
publicity--newspapers, wireless and a lot of callers. But the sooner and
the more widely the facts are known, the quicker the results."

Whether an actress who is only a minor star has a dressing-room to
herself, or has to share one with two or three others, depends on the
size of the cast and the accommodation available. The Regal Theatre was a
modern building and the designer had paid rather more attention to the
comfort of the performers than is sometimes the case. Amabel Legh had a
room of her own, and when she heard that Major Bennion wished to see her
she asked him to be brought in at once.

"You are Valerie's mother?" he said.

"Of course," she smiled. "Have you been seeing the show?" She was sitting
in front of the mirror, but she turned to speak to him. She was made up
as an elderly woman in a Victorian costume.

"Not yet. My wife and I are meaning to, but we wanted to tell you how
wonderfully good Valerie was to us on our voyage. My wife had been ill,
you know, and it was a great comfort for her to have your daughter with
us."

"It was lucky for Val. You were wonderfully good to her, paying
everything and giving her such beautiful presents. But I could wish you
had seen me for the first time without my hag rig."

"You make a very charming old lady," Roger laughed.

"Not at such close range. I have really finished. I don't come in the
last scene, but I have to be ready to take a curtain. Bruce and Valerie
are in front."

"Have you seen them since this afternoon?" Roger asked.

"No. I said they could get dinner somewhere and then I would give them
supper after the show. I never have much before it; one acts best when
hungry. But I do enjoy my supper. Will you join us?"

"I would love to," Roger said, "but I am afraid it is impossible tonight
as I have another appointment. Perhaps you would let me give you all
supper tomorrow or some other time? I meant to see you, but this, in a
way, is a sort of business call. I believe you know Lady Cradon?"

The smile from Amabel's heavily lined features disappeared.

"I have met her," she said coldly.

"This afternoon her baby son was stolen from his perambulator near her
home and so far no trace of him has been found."

"What a ghastly thing! But--why have you come to me?"

"Lady Cradon said you made some sort of claim on the family a few days
ago and she thought you might have done this to enforce it."

Amabel looked at him for a few moments, tapping her foot on the floor.
Then she said:

"There must be a good many ways of playing this scene. One would be to
get superbly angry, denounce Lady Cradon as an imbecile and tell you to
clear out. Another would ask coldly what you knew of the whole affair and
whether you think anyone with such a claim would be lunatic enough to
meddle with the child?"

Roger smiled. "I am glad you decided against the superb anger, though I
am sure you could have done it well. As to the other, Lady Cradon told me
about the claim and I told her I could not conceive why in such
circumstances you should interfere with the baby. She was convinced she
would hear from you and so would not communicate with the police, lest
the other story came out too. I said I would see you, and if your reply
was as I anticipated we would lose no more time."

"Lady Cradon is a silly woman," Amabel said, "though no doubt she made a
good wife for Lionel. His sort really. I am sorry for her, but I know
nothing about her baby. What should I want with it? What should I do with
it? I was out shopping this afternoon but in quite a different
neighbourhood. There was a paragraph in the paper a few days ago, saying
the Baby Bart was worth a hundred thousand pounds. That probably explains
what happened. It is enough to tempt any evil person to kidnap him."

"I am afraid you are right. May I say I am sure you were not concerned
and now I hope she will get busy?"

"You may, but one thing, Major Bennion, since you have come. Do you not
agree that my offer to her was a generous one?"

"It would certainly appear so. Did Sir Lionel make you no payment?"

"I told her he did. Twenty thousand pounds. It made things easier for me,
but it is gone. I enjoyed it, though I made some bad investments. So now
I ask for another twenty thousand. Not really very much. Ought he not to
have left me something in his will?"

"Did he promise to do so?"

"No. But am I not entitled to it? You see, to me Lionel was a crushing
bore. He hated the theatre; we had nothing in common. No doubt I was
wrong to let him think I was dead, but I wanted to live my own life. The
next heir to the title would be his brother Andrew. He is a friend of
mine, but I have never said a word to him and do not intend to do so."

"Andrew Cradon. I seem to have heard of him."

"He runs the Society of Peacemakers."

"That is the man. Does Valerie know about her father?"

"Not a word, and I do not want her to."

"You will find she knows all about the missing baby. She was with Bruce
outside Westbourne House when the nurse found the perambulator contained
only a doll. They went--"

At that moment the call came for Amabel to join the rest of the cast in
the wings to make their bow to the audience. Roger departed.

CHAPTER VII

S.O.P.

ANDREW CRADON sat at his mahogany desk. He was a massive man. Over six
feet in height and stoutly built, with a large head going bald, clear
grey eyes and well-formed features, his was a personality not to be
overlooked in any assembly. He had a benevolent expression, though his
firm mouth suggested he was not an individual to be imposed upon.

He occupied a house in that part of Lowndes Street near to Sloane Street
and Cadogan Place, almost opposite to what was once the residence of the
great Earl Cadogan, now a block of flats. His room was in the front on
the ground floor. Behind it a smaller room served for a clerical staff,
and behind that again a really large room was used for business meetings
and conferences. The rest of the premises formed an adequate residence. A
neat brass plate on the front door bore the inscription--The Society of
Peacemakers.

He pressed a bell and a good-looking woman in her early thirties glided
into the room. She was neatly dressed and gave an impression of
efficiency.

"Good morning, Miss Pleyall. Anything of importance today?"

"Lord Rotherham has accepted your invitation to become a vice-president
and has sent a cheque for ten guineas. Archdeacon Belfort says he also
will join us but can only subscribe one guinea."

"Both good men," Mr. Cradon said, "and both should be useful. Anything
from the B.B.C. about the suggested broadcast?"

"Not yet. There is a letter from Mr. Hedley from Belfast. He thinks the
strike is nearly over. He was able to arrange a meeting between the two
sides. If all goes as he hopes he should be able to return today or
tomorrow. He sends a full report of the negotiations and says he thinks
his efforts have been useful, though they may not be acknowledged."

"Probably not. Hedley is a good lad. Any father might be proud of him. I
am glad he is taking our work seriously; at one time I feared he would
not."

"The rest are mostly routine matters I can deal with, but, Mr. Cradon--"

"Yes?"

"Have you seen this morning's papers?"

"You are thinking of the report that Lady Cradon's little boy is
missing?"

"Yes. The Morning Pictorial is full of it. It has pictures of her and the
baby and says the perambulators were changed outside the Knightsbridge
Stores. A dummy was left in place of the baby." Miss Pleyall spoke with
more excitement than she usually showed.

"It must be true then," Mr. Cradon said. "My paper had only a very brief
reference to it. Has Lady Cradon telephoned?"

"Not yet. Would you like me to get on to her? I have the Pictorial here
if you would care to see it."

"Certainly I would. It seems a dastardly business, but I expect the
police will soon get to the bottom of it."

It was to the credit of the journal in question that news broken after
midnight could figure so prominently in its pages. There were bold
headlines and many pictures. Mr. Cradon and his secretary were busy
studying them when he was informed that Major Roger Bennion had called
and would like to see him.

Before going out, Roger had had a few words on the matter with Ben
Orgles, his butler-handyman. Ben had been in the police force in his
younger days and in the Royal Air Force during the war. Now, blessed with
a small pension, he and Bessie, his wife, were happy to run the Bennions'
home for them. They were devoted to both their master and their mistress.
Ben was putting on a bit of weight, but his cheeriness never deserted
him.

"You have read about this Cradon baby case?" Roger asked him.

"Glanced at it, sir."

"You remember Lady Cradon from our Sloane Street days?"

"Oh yes, sir. Quite a pleasant lady."

"I would like to help her if I can, although the police will no doubt do
all that is necessary and may already have the information they want."

"They'll get a lot of information," Ben said. "How far it will help them
remains to be seen."

"Well, Ben, we may take it the prams were changed outside that shop. If
you were going to do a job like that, how would you set about it?"

"Not my line at all, sir," Ben grinned, "but I see what you mean.
Naturally I should want to get away as quickly as I could."

"You certainly would. The nurse seems to have been delayed a little in
the shop and she did not really look at the baby when she got back. Those
were things no one could count on. The hue and cry might have started
almost at once, and, remember, you are in charge of a fairly conspicuous
perambulator."

"So I am. It was a daring business, sir. I think I should nip round the
nearest corner. I would have a small pantechnicon waiting and would shove
the pram right in and get away."

"It could be done like that, but a pantechnicon waiting about in a London
street in the afternoon would attract attention and the police might ask
questions. You could not rely on pushing in your pram unobserved. I agree
as to turning the corner. Then, if there was an entry to a mews a little
further on, I think my plan would be to go there, get into a car with the
baby and leave the pram behind, hiding it as best I could--perhaps in an
empty garage."

"That should work all right, sir," Ben said with his wide grin. "A good
job you are for the police, not against them."

"What I want you to do is to make such enquiries as you can in the shop
and also to find the nearest mews and see what you can learn there. I do
not know who is in charge of the case, but if you make any useful
discoveries we shall of course pass the information along."

"I'll do my best, sir. A bit of the old game again."

Mr. Andrew Cradon asked for Major Bennion to be brought to his office
directly he knew of his arrival.

"I do not think we have met before," Roger began, "but on my return from
New Zealand I found among other letters one from you inviting me to
become a vice-president of the Society of Peacemakers. I thought I would
like to see you about it."

"It is very good of you to call,” Mr. Cradon beamed. "I shall be happy to
tell you anything I can and to give you the pamphlets describing our
work."

"Well, in the first place," Roger said, "there are, I believe, a number
of peace societies. In what way does yours differ from the rest?"

"There are many so-called peace leagues and brotherhoods," Mr. Cradon
agreed. "Some of them are really political and only stand for peace on
their own terms. Others piously wish for peace but do precious little
about it. The Bible, you will remember, says, 'Blessed are the Peace
makers for they are the children of God'. So far as I know, we are the
only Society of Peacemakers."

"How do you set about it?"

"We are entirely non-political. We do not try to shake thrones or mould
governments. We start at the bottom and hope to work up. We have offices
in many large towns and we invite young couples to call on us and discuss
their troubles. I think we can claim to have saved many marriages. Our
endeavour is to get the parties together, to talk things over with a
kindly experienced man. There are no charges of any kind and it might
surprise you to know how many couples we have persuaded to try again--and
how often the breach has been permanently healed."

"Good work--if you can get them to come to you in time," Roger said.

"Precisely, and that, of course, is only one branch of our activities.
Whenever there is a strike, big or little, we are there to do our best.
Our method is the same--to try and get the parties together to talk
things over. One of our theories is that in every strike of any
importance the B.B.C. should invite representatives of both sides to the
microphone to set out their case. The public would then know what it is
all about, which often they do not, as newspaper reports are inadequate
and one-sided. Our part is to get the facts and suggest a reasonable
settlement. You will say there are arbitration boards. That is true, but
how slowly they work! We act immediately and we have had many successes."

"And not a few snubs," Roger suggested.

"How right you are!" Mr. Cradon laughed. "Often enough we are told to
clear out and mind our own business. But it is getting to be recognised
that we have no axes to grind. We only desire justice all round, not
least of all for the general public, often the greatest sufferers. In
international affairs we have no status, but our ideas are the same. A
frank statement of claim is the first step towards agreement."

"Who is behind your society?" Roger asked.

"I am," Mr. Cradon said. "I devote all my time and money to it. My son,
Hedley, is at this moment in Belfast and I believe he is helping to
effect a settlement of the trouble there. But we have many supporters who
assist with money and advice. I hope you will join us, Major Bennion.
There is a big work to be done by the Children of God. I have had a
wonderful idea from a friend of mine, Miss Amabel Legh, the actress."

"What is that?"

"Well," Mr. Cradon said, "it may be called the rehabilitation of domestic
service. Miss Legh holds that happy homes are the true foundations of
peace. If our young men would choose their wives from the cooks and the
household workers they would be far better cared for than if they married
shop-girls and factory hands. I think it a grand idea and I am hoping to
sponsor lectures to be broadcast by the B.B.C. I would also like to make
one of their weekly appeals, not so much for the money it might bring in
as the chance it would afford of offering our services to the community."

"It is a good work," Roger said sincerely. "If you will let me have your
pamphlets I will study them and let you know what I can do. Meanwhile, as
I am here, there is something else I would like to mention."

"Please do."

"As you have probably heard, your sister-in-law, Lady Cradon, is in great
trouble. Her baby son was kidnapped yesterday. My wife and I chanced to
hear of it, and as we were old neighbours of hers we offered our help,
which she accepted."

Roger was conscious of a change of expression in the face of the man he
was addressing. It may have been that he disliked the intrusion of a
stranger into a family matter. It may have been that he suspected--not
altogether without reason--that the professed call about the Society of
Peacemakers was really an excuse to discuss this other matter.

"My secretary and I were reading about it when you came," Mr. Cradon
said. "I had not heard of it officially. My sister-in-law and I are not
on very cordial terms, but I am very grieved for her distress. We were
intending to ring her up to ask if there was anything we could do to help
her."

"Is there?" Roger enquired.

"So far as I am aware there is not, but my services are entirely at her
disposal. Please tell her so."

"I will. I was wondering if you could suggest any direction in which we
might look for the miscreants guilty of the affair."

"I have no idea at all," Mr. Cradon said. "I suppose a demand for money
is behind it."

"That seems probable. But in my view we have not far to look. What I mean
is that the criminals must have been in a position to know the movements
of Lady Cradon's household fairly intimately. They knew the nurse was
accustomed to call at that particular shop, probably about that time, and
they secured a perambulator practically identical with the one she used."

"That suggests the nurse herself, or one of the servants," Mr. Cradon
observed.

"I think the nurse is above suspicion. The other resident maid would be
too well known to her to have played an active part and, in any case, she
was in the flat at the time."

"She could have given information to a third party."

"The police will, of course, question her closely. Apart from the money
angle there is the possible motive of spite. Has Lady Cradon any
enemies?"

Mr. Cradon considered the question for some moments, frowning
thoughtfully.

"As I told you, I do not often see Lady Cradon, but she is not a
quarrelsome woman and I should not think she made enemies. But you used
the word spite. She has a sister, a Mrs. Kingston, whom I have always
regarded as a jealous and spiteful person. Lady Cradon married my
brother, who was a wealthy man. Her sister married a Captain Kingston,
who gambled away what money they had and left her penniless. She was very
bitter that she had so little and her sister so much. But I would
hesitate to suggest that she could be guilty of a deed so abominable and
apparently of so little advantage to herself."

"Thank you," Roger said. "That is, anyway, a matter to clear up. I was
told a paragraph was recently published about your brother's will that
might have incited cupidity. Do you know anything about that?"

"My secretary mentioned something of the sort to me just before you came.
She said she had kept a copy. If you like, I will ask her for it."

Roger said he would be pleased to see it. Mr. Cradon pressed a bell and a
few moments later Miss Pleyall handed them a cutting identical with that
retained by Amabel Legh. They both read it.

"Hardly a Lucky Baby Bart," Roger observed. "It would certainly appear
there was money enough to instigate the crime. But the will was, I
suppose, more or less what was to be expected?"

"It disappointed me," Mr. Cradon said. "I had hoped my brother would have
left something to my Society of Peacemakers. He knew how keenly
interested I was in it and we had made our money together. But, of
course, he was entirely justified in disposing of his estate as he saw
fit."

"Should little Sir Lionel never return--it is a horrible thought, but I
suppose it is at the back of our minds--you would, I take it, succeed to
the title and, if what the paper says is correct, possibly to much of the
money?"

"That had not occurred to me," Mr. Cradon said stiffly, "and I trust we
need not contemplate it."

The conversation then ended. Roger thanked him for what he had been told
and said he would see him again about S.O.P. before long. He then
returned to Egerton Terrace, where he found Ben Orgles waiting for him in
a state of mild excitement.

"Struck lucky I did, sir, almost at once. And I must hand it to you that
you were on to the right way of things from the word go."

"Carry on," Roger said.

"Well, sir, I couldn't learn much at the Stores. A lot of people talking
about what had happened, but they didn't know any more than we did. A man
from the Yard was making enquiries. I knew him, but he didn't seem to be
getting very far. So I thought I would look out for a likely garage, as
you said."

"Wilson's Mews?" Roger asked.

"You're dead right, sir. Round the first corner from the Stores is a
street leading to a square. A little way down this street is the entrance
to Wilson's Mews. It's a quiet place and more than half of it is used by
the business people nearby. But I saw one place empty. I went to the
agents and borrowed the key. Inside I found a perambulator! It was
exactly as described. It contained some baby's toys and a book with the
name Cradon in it."

"Good work," Roger said. "What did you do?"

"I left everything as it was and made some enquiries in the mews. Nobody
saw anything yesterday afternoon – in fact most of 'em are out at work
and two women who might have been home were at the pictures. But one
woman said that three days ago she saw a small dark man open the empty
garage and drive a car in. She didn't see him go, but she told her
husband about it when he got home and they reckoned the place was let."

"Could she describe the man?"

"Not very well. She said she might know him if she saw him again, but
that she could pick him out at a parade is damned--pardon,
sir--unlikely."

"Never mind the damns with me, Ben. What next?"

"I went back to the agents and asked if the place was let. They said no.
A man borrowed the key a few days ago but brought it back and said it
might suit; he'd let them know. They never heard."

"Could they describe him?"

"Short and dark, wearing a trilby hat and a raincoat. Gave the name of
Appleby."

"No doubt not his own. Nothing to prevent him leaving his car there and
having a duplicate key cut to get it out later."

 "That's how it looks to me, sir."

"You didn't tell the agent about the perambulator you found?"

"No, sir." Ben grinned. "I was not giving that away. I kept the key,
saying I wanted my boss to see the place. Didn't want that pram to walk
off!"

"Quite right. Anything else?"

"I asked who the place belonged to. The owner's name is Smith. The last
people who rented it called themselves the Society of Peacemakers."

"Who?" Roger cried.

"The Society of Peacemakers. I think I got it right."

"That is very curious. I have just been seeing the president of that
society, Mr. Andrew Cradon. If the baby were done away with, he would get
the title and possibly a good deal of the money."

"Smells fishy," Ben commented.

"The Yard must know of it. Keep an eye on the mews till they take over."

CHAPTER VIII

REPORTS AND RUMOURS

ROGER'S NEXT call was on Lady Cradon. As he anticipated, a C.I.D. officer
was with her, none other than Chief Inspector Warren. Roger had met him
before and they thought well of one another. A third party was also
there--Lady Cradon's sister, Mrs. Marjorie Kingston. Roger was introduced
to her. The two women were not unlike, but where as Lady Cradon seemed
naturally kindly, Mrs. Kingston was sharper in tongue and feature and
might merit the adjective spiteful that had been applied to her.

She explained that directly she read of the affair she packed her
suitcase and came round, determined to be with her sister in her time of
trouble. No doubt she would be more comfortable in the sumptuous Sloane
Street flat than in her Bayswater bedsitting-room, but her motive may have
been kindly. Whether Lady Cradon was glad to receive her it was hard to
say.

Roger told them of the discovery of the missing perambulator in Wilson's
Mews and handed the key to Inspector Warren.

"I think you had better have the nurse identify it," he said. "There may
be fingerprints on the handle."

Warren thanked him and said he had been intending to arrange for such a
search.

"I have just been hearing about a woman, Gertrude Willows, who was with
Lady Cradon some weeks ago," he remarked. "She left in suspicious
circumstances and we want to find her."

"Indeed you do," Mrs. Kingston declared. "Directly I read the paper I
said to myself the Willows woman was behind it. She was untruthful and
dishonest, wasn't she, Eleanor?"

"She was not satisfactory," was the reply. "We never really proved she
had taken anything." Lady Cradon was looking woefully tired. There had
been no communication concerning her baby. No demand for payment or any
intimation of conditions for his return. She wondered if she had been
wise to appeal for police aid, or if the news as published in the papers
would harden the hearts of those who held him.

"That was only because you thought it less trouble to send her away than
to call in the police," her sister retorted.

"I ought perhaps to tell you," Roger said to Warren, "the last tenants of
the garage were the Society of Peacemakers."

"That is the concern run by that old humbug, Andrew Cradon," Mrs.
Kingston exclaimed. "It would not surprise me at all to hear he was mixed
up in it. What do you say, Eleanor?"

"Andrew was annoyed when my baby was born," Lady Cradon said, "but I
cannot think he would do a wicked thing like this."

"You are too trustful," her sister declared.

"I have seen Mr. Cradon," Roger remarked. "He asked me to tell you how
distressed he was at the news. He said he would do anything he could to
help you."

"Hypocrite!" muttered Marjorie.

Then Inspector Warren said he wanted to have a private talk with the
porter. Was there a room where he could see him without interruption?

"You can see him here," Lady Cradon said. "Come along, Marjorie."

Rather reluctantly the sister followed her from the room, and Warren
asked for an assistant who was also in the flat to fetch the porter.

"Wish me to stay?" Roger asked.

"I should be glad if you would. It is a queer business, but I think the
Willows woman is our best bet. If she is who I think, she was at one time
working with a very flash gang. Had Lady Cradon kept her, a big jewel
robbery might have followed. They may have thought this was better."

Strawn, the porter, looked more than usually smart when he entered the
room. He wore his proper uniform and saluted the chief inspector. After a
few general questions Warren said:

"What can you tell us about this affair?"

"I am sorry, sir, nothing. I was on duty yesterday afternoon and knew
nothing about it until the nurse got back and made the discovery."

"Had you noticed anyone lurking near the place at any time, watching the
nurse or the perambulator?"

"No, sir, never. We get loafers and beggars occasionally, but we send
them off sharp."

"You cannot suggest any direction in which we can look for the
criminals?"

"Wish I could, sir."

"How many tenants are there in the block?"

"On the ground floor left, Mr. and Mrs. Sweeting. They have a little girl
about five. On the right, Mrs. Morton. She is an old lady, over seventy.
Lady Cradon has the whole of the first floor. On the second floor left,
Captain and Mrs. Giles. He works, I believe, at the War Office. On the
right, Lady Betting, a widow. Third floor left, Major and the Honourable
Mrs. Feltham. Right, Mrs. Vannock, another old lady. Top floor left,
Admiral Heaton and his daughter. Right, Mr. Percy Belgood and his wife.
He is an M.P."

"They sound respectable enough. All on good terms with Lady Cradon?"

"Certainly, sir. So far as I could judge."

"On the top floor of all," Roger said, "I believe Mr. Pursey, the owner
of the flats, lives?"

"That's right, sir."

"Could we see him?"

"Of course you could, sir. But not now. He is out."

"I thought," said Roger, "he only went out at night?"

Strawn's pasty face wed a broad grin. "We are told to say that, sir, and
for the most part it is true. But he does go out in the daytime
occasionally, only he uses the back way."

"What is the reason for that?" Warren enquired.

"Well, sir, I suppose you would call him eccentric. He doesn't like
meeting his tenants; they might ask for something."

The inspector turned abruptly to another matter.

"Strawn, do you know anything about a Gertrude Willows?"

"Wasn't she with Lady Cradon for a short time, sir?"

"She was. Where is she now?"

"Afraid I can't tell you that."

"Have you seen her since she left?"

Strawn was silent for a few moments.

"Are you thinking she might have had a hand in this business, sir?"

"We have to consider all possibilities."

"I saw her passing once, but that was weeks ago, soon after she left.
There's one thing--"

"Well?"

"She used nasty language about her ladyship--said she'd pay her out for
it."

"You are sure she said that?"

"Oh yes, more than once. But that's how girls talk."

"Do you know where she came from?"

"I believe she once mentioned somewhere up north," Strawn said.
"Huddersfield, I think it was, but I never had much to do with her. My
wife might know."

"I will see your wife," Warren said.

"Strawn, if I came this afternoon at about three o'clock, could I see Mr.
Pursey?" It was Roger who put the question.

"I don't know, sir. When he goes out in the morning, he likes to rest in
the afternoon."

"Then will you tell him I will call in the morning?"

"He--he is not partial to visitors, sir."

"Maybe not, but I think he will appreciate he must see either the chief
inspector or myself--or both of us."

"Well, sir, tomorrow afternoon would be better."

"All right. Let him know."

Warren decided he would go to the basement rooms to see Mrs. Strawn, as
he wished to inspect the whole place. Roger went down with him. There was
considerable accommodation there, a good deal of it cellar and boxroom
space reserved for the tenants. The Strawns, however, had their own flat
with two bedrooms, two sitting-rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. One of
the sitting-rooms was smaller than the other.

"A bit damp?" Roger asked, pointing to some discoloration in the
wall-paper in the smaller room.

"Always has been," Strawn grumbled. "Difficult to get proper ventilation
down here."

Mrs. Strawn was in her kitchen. She did not seem very pleased to see
visitors when cooking a meal, but she made the best of it.

"The inspector wants to know what you can tell him about Gertrude
Willows," her husband said.

"Precious little," was the reply. "She was just one of the girls that
comes and goes."

"Where did she come from and where did she go to?" Warren asked.

"I've no idea."

"Didn't she leave an address for letters to be forwarded?" Mrs. Strawn
shook her head.

"Not with us, perhaps with her ladyship," her husband said.

"Did you see her after she left?"

"She came in once about a bit of laundry," the woman replied. "Wouldn't
go to the flat. I got it for her."

"Did you ask her if she had got another place?"

"She said she was in no hurry. She'd take a holiday."

"Did she mention Huddersfield?" her husband enquired. "Came from there,
didn't she?"

"I b'lieve she did. I don't know if she was goin' back."

"How long ago was that?" Warren asked.

"‘Bout four weeks. Maybe five."

"The Labour Exchange might help," Roger suggested. Then he added: "Are
there many maids living-in in the flats?"

"Mrs. Morton has one, so has Mrs. Vannock. The rest is dailies."

"A field for enquiry." Roger smiled to Warren.

"Don't I know it?" the inspector said. "You have a helper, Strawn?"

"Joe Gassett. He's in the hall now. Want him?"

"Gen'rally has his meals here," said Mrs. Strawn, hinting perhaps that
she had to get on with her cooking.

"All right. I will see him upstairs."

Gassett was a red-headed youth of nineteen. He had had his job for about
a year. He could give no information. He knew all the girls and women who
worked in the block and probably indulged in a little back-chat with most
of them. He remembered Gertrude Willows, but had never had much to do
with her. He said he was fond of Lady Cradon's baby and hoped they would
soon find him.

"Will they offer a reward?" he asked.

"Think you could earn it?" Warren replied sharply.

"I'd have a good try, sir, if I knew where to start," he grinned.

Roger and Chief Inspector Warren then parted, the latter to take Nurse
Spaight to Wilson's Mews to identify the abandoned perambulator, the
former to walk to his home in Egerton Terrace. But he had not gone far
when he met Valerie Legh and Bruce Kelsall.

"Oh, Major Bennion," Valerie cried, "what luck to meet you. We have had
such an exciting morning and we have discovered something that may be
frightfully important. We were going to Westbourne House, as we thought
there might be a policeman there and we could tell him about it."

"There was a policeman there, a chief inspector to be precise. But
suppose you tell me first? Ruth would like to hear it, too. A taxi will
take us in a couple of minutes."

He hailed a car and as they rode along he told them of the discovery of the
pram and of some of the morning's activities.

Ruth was very pleased to see them, though she was disappointed to hear
there was no news yet of the missing baby.

"Now, Valerie," Roger said, "we are all attention."

"You tell them, Bruce," she urged.

"You are better at it than I am," he said.

"Well, we wondered what we could do to help and we thought it would be a
good thing to go to the Stores to look round and perhaps make some
enquiries. Apparently half London had the same idea. Of course, they had
read the news and the pavement was packed solid with people who had come
to see just where it had happened. There was a policeman trying to move
them along, but more were coming every minute and they were busy talking
about it. In parts of the crowd we heard three different people declare
that it would end up like the Lindbergh baby. What did they mean?"

She was animated and happy. Roger saw she knew nothing of the tragic
story to which she alluded. Was it any good keeping back what might be on
everyone's lips and would assuredly be recalled in the press?

"Colonel Lindbergh," he said quietly, "a very gallant American airman,
was the first to fly solo across the Atlantic. His baby was kidnapped. He
never saw it again alive."

"Oh, how awful! But it couldn't happen here."

"We will hope not," Roger said. "But I thought you had good news for us."

"I hope it is. Among the women who were talking outside the Stores one
attracted quite a lot of attention. We got near enough to hear what she
was saying. She declared she was there yesterday afternoon at about the
time it happened. She didn't notice much about the prams, but she saw two
and one of them was pushed away by a man. Is that important?"

"It certainly might be," Roger said. "It is a thing that had not occurred
to me. Has she told the police?"

"I asked her that," Bruce said. "Not likely, she told us. She wasn't
going to get mixed up in such a thing and wake up some morning and find
her throat cut."

"There was a bit of an argument," Valerie went on. "Then the policeman
came up and she slipped away. Bruce and I followed her. She got on a bus
and went to Victoria. We all got off there. We followed her to Vauxhall
Bridge Road. She went into a place called Brewster Buildings. We found
that she lives there and her name is Mrs. Green. Ought the police to be
told?"

"Most certainly," Roger said. "I will let Chief Inspector Warren know
about it and he will have her questioned. Men do of course push prams
sometimes, but it is sufficiently rare to be noticeable. I should imagine
the party we want would wish to be as inconspicuous as possible. By the
way, Bruce, I have an appointment to see your uncle tomorrow afternoon."

"I hope he will be more civil to you, sir, than he was to me."

"Why are you seeing him?" Valerie wanted to know. "You don't think he is
concerned in it?"

"It does not seem likely," Roger agreed, "but I am curious about him and
he may know something about his various tenants."

"According to Strawn," Bruce said, "he knows as little of them as
possible, except I suppose that they pay their rent."

"Roger likes to get all the sidelights he can," Ruth commented. "Bruce's
uncle does not seem to be a very kindly person. If he is a sort of
recluse he would surely hate to be mixed up in an affair like this."

CHAPTER IX

MR. PURSEY IS NOT SYMPATHETIC

THE PUBLIC interest in crime is a capricious thing. The Sunday journals
that consider a full chronicle of the week's misdeeds is the proper
reading for the Sabbath have undoubtedly their millions of readers, yet
it is only occasionally that a crime stimulates nation-wide curiosity.

The Cradon baby case became front-page news from the start. The daring
nature of the crime--the exchange of a perambulator carrying the tiny
heir to a vast fortune for a similar one containing only a doll, effected
in a busy street in full daylight--was alone sufficient to command
attention. Thousands of parents all over the country felt sympathy for
the distracted mother and waited eagerly for the latest scrap of news of
her child. The story touched the heart-strings of people everywhere.

The perambulator found in the mews was undoubtedly the one in which
little Sir Lionel had been taken out. The police accepted Roger Bennion's
theory that he had been driven away in a car, but whether the car had
gone north, south, east or west none could say. The newspapers and the
cinemas showed pictures asking, "Have you seen this baby?" The former
described the clothing he had been wearing at the time. Each piece, it
was said, including the shawl in which he was wrapped, was marked with
the monogram L.C. embroidered in blue silk. Except, it may be, to their
mothers, many babies are considerably alike, and, although much
information reached the police stations in most of the big towns,
investigation was fruitless. The B.B.C. referred to the matter in all
their bulletins. The results kept Scotland Yard busy, but the mystery
deepened.

Enquiry as to the whereabouts of Gertrude Willows, "who it was thought
might give useful information," proved equally abortive. The
interrogation of Mrs. Green, traced to Brewster Buildings by Valerie Legh
and Bruce Kelsall, led nowhere. She persisted that she had seen a man
pushing a perambulator, but was vague as to the exact time, the
appearance of the man and the build of the pram.

What was perhaps more remarkable was the fact that no demand for payment
of any kind had been received by Lady Cradon. She had a vast number of
letters, mostly of sympathy, but none that made any proposal for the
restoration of her son. The police were of the opinion that the person or
persons who held him were waiting until the excitement had died down and
were also trying to devise some scheme by which they could get payment
without risk of detection and arrest.

Lady Cradon had several interviews with her trustee, her late husband's
solicitor, Mr. Godfrey Angell, on the matter.

"Can we not offer a large reward?" she asked, "and say if he is returned
unharmed it will be paid and no proceedings taken?"

"I am afraid not," was the reply. "It would be condoning the crime."

"But I will give my money, anything that is mine, to get him back," she
protested tearfully. Her grief was telling sadly on her. She could not
sleep without sedatives, and even they were not always effective. The
day-long agony of mind was almost more than she could endure. She had not
told Mr. Angell of the other anxiety that oppressed her, the possible
loss of wealth and title. That she felt could somehow be adjusted. Amabel
Legh was not an unreasonable woman. But in any case, what did it matter
compared with the recovery of her baby?

"I sympathise with you very very deeply," Mr. Angell assured her, "but we
could not promise that no proceedings would be taken. Nor, if we did
promise it, would our word bind the police. A grave criminal offence has
been committed and the law must take its course. What we can do, and what
I was going to suggest, is that we should offer a reward to anyone, not
the actual abductor, for information that leads to the child's return,
safe and uninjured."

"Yes," she said eagerly, "please do that. What will you offer?"

"The sum I have in my mind," he replied in his slow, precise manner, "is
two thousand pounds."

"Is that enough?"

"I think so. I had thought of one thousand, but decided to double it, if
you agreed."

"Indeed I do," Lady Cradon said. "Please let it be known at once."

The announcement of this large reward added to the interest and
excitement, and the police received more information that unfortunately
yielded no useful result. The Yard men were completely baffled. They
could only continue their untiring efforts and wait for some tangible
clue.

The press interviewed anyone and everyone who had any thing to say on the
matter or could offer reasonable suggestions. Their columns carried
letters that were in many cases critical of the police. The Morning
Pictorial scored a success with an interview with Mr. Hedley Cradon. It
printed his portrait and described him as a handsome man, twenty-nine
years of age, of distinguished appearance. He was not unlike his father,
though the benign aspect of the latter was not so notable in the son,
whose expression was less open and more calculating.

"It is an abominable and almost incredible outrage," he was quoted as
saying. "I was in Belfast at the time representing the Society of
Peacemakers in the recent strike. I think our efforts helped in the
settlement. My cousin was a splendid little chap and I trust he will soon
be restored to his mother. My father has urged all our centres to do any
thing possible to that end. Should they be successful, he will add five
hundred pounds to the reward offered."

"Your father is the next heir to the title?" he was asked.

"That is so, but, apart from his affection for his nephew, he has no wish
for such a title."

"Would he not accept a title?"

 "If his work for peace in the home and beyond it were deemed worthy of
the honour, I do not doubt he would be gratified. But a title earned by
someone else would have no value whatever to him."

"Are you satisfied that all possible steps are being taken to trace Lady
Cradon's baby, or can you suggest anything more that could be done?"

"I am satisfied that the police are doing all they can. In these cases
the co-operation of the public is of the greatest importance and I am
confident eventual success is certain."

Roger duly kept his appointment with Mr. Pursey, but it did not prove
very helpful. On arriving at Westbourne House, the porter was off duty,
but he was taken by the red-headed Joe Gassett straight up to the topmost
flat, where the door was opened by Mrs. Strawn. The entrance hall was a
little more trim and tidy than when Bruce had called, but it was still
bare and cheerless.

The same might be said for the sitting-room where Mr. Pursey received
him. The proprietor of the building was in the same seat as when his
nephew had called. He had his rug over his knees and his bricky-red
countenance showed no welcome to his visitor.

"What have you come for?" he demanded gruffly

"Concerning the disappearance of Lady Cradon's baby," Roger said
pleasantly. "I am sure it must have distressed you very much."

"Are you from the police?"

"I am working with them."

"Half London seem to think that."

"I hope all London is working with them. I am also a friend of Lady
Cradon's."

"Why have you come to me? I am not her ladyship's nursemaid."

"As her landlord, I thought you might tell me if there have been any
happenings here that throw any light on the matter?"

"I don't interfere with the tenants and I don't expect them to interfere
with me."

"Has your porter been with you for a considerable time?"

"Eight years."

"You have found him conscientious and trustworthy?"

"I should not have kept him otherwise."

Mr. Pursey seemed to resent the questions. He answered promptly, but his
tone was harsh.

"His wife also has your confidence?"

"Certainly. She spends much of her time here."

"And the lad, Joe Gassett?"

"Lazy but honest."

"You see, Mr. Pursey, there are certain features of the case that
indicate intimate knowledge of Lady Cradon's household."

"What features?"

"I expect you have read about them in the papers," Roger said. "The
duplicate perambulator, the timing of the deed, the choice of the Stores
where Lady Cradon dealt, and the use of a costume similar to that worn by
the assistants there.  I am not suggesting that any member of your staff
is even suspected, but I thought you might possibly be able to help us in
some way."

"You thought wrong. I am sorry for her ladyship, but I  have enough
troubles of my own."

"I am puzzled," Roger went on, "by the pretended shop-girl. Where she
came from and where she went to. The girl who pushed the pram containing
the doll could have been loitering about, looking at the shops, and no
one would have taken much notice of her. She might easily have been there
on previous days, waiting for her chance. But it is the sham shop-girl I
cannot quite account for. Would she have waited about in her indoor
costume? Of course, she could have worn a raincoat and slipped it off and
handed it to the other girl before she accosted the nurse. What do you
think?"

Roger had been talking, not to air his theories, but to watch the queer
old man he was addressing. Could he really be as indifferent to it all as
he appeared? It seemed he was.

"I don't think anything about it, except that it is a damned nuisance,"
he said. "Of course, I am sorry for her ladyship, but she ought to be
able to look after her own family. No one thinks of me. The place overrun
with police and news paper men and all sorts of curious busybodies. The
sooner they clear out the better I'll be pleased."

If this was a hint for him to go, Roger did not take it.

"Then you cannot help us? I had the pleasure of meeting a nephew of yours
on the way home from New Zealand. Bruce Kelsall. An excellent fellow. You
must be proud of him."

"Why?"

"He is keen and able. He should do well at his job."

"Bah! Let him go back to his job and not hang around to see what he can
get from me."

"That is rather unjust," Roger said. "He cannot go back until his ship is
ready. He would interest and amuse you. Sailors always have so much to
tell us."

"No one amuses me. They are all after what they can get."

"What do they get?" Roger smiled.

"All they deserve," was the surly reply.

When Roger left the flat he walked all the way down the stairs. As he
reached the first floor he heard voices. To his surprise he saw Amabel
Legh and Lady Cradon in conversation outside the door of the latter's
flat. They both recognised him.

"I called on Eleanor," Amabel said, "to tell her how truly sorry I am for
the distress she is suffering."

Roger noted the use of the Christian name. Had they become friends or was
it Amabel's way of avoiding giving her the disputed title?

"It was kind of you," Lady Cradon murmured.

"I am glad you came out with me," Amabel added, "and I had to shut the
door as I could not say all I wanted to with your sister present. I know
you suspected I might have had something to do with your trouble. Major
Bennion told me so. But I had not. It was a terrible thing. I hope and
pray your baby is safe and will soon be brought back. What I most wanted
to say is that the other matter I saw you about can wait. Forget it until
this trouble is over. Then no doubt we can agree on something."

"It is very good of you," Lady Cradon said sadly. "Nothing matters much
till I get him back."

At that moment the door opened and the sister, Marjorie Kingston,
appeared. She seemed to regard them suspiciously.

"I heard voices," she said. "Quite a little party! Shall I have tea
brought out?"

"I was talking to Eleanor," Amabel smiled, "and the door blew to."

"I had been visiting someone upstairs," Roger added. There was no reason
why he should explain things to this unpleasant woman, but he thought it
might help.

"It is time my sister rested," Marjorie said. "The doctor is very strict
about it."

"Rest!" Lady Cradon said bitterly. "How can I rest? I would walk every
street in the whole of London if it would be any good."

However, she re-entered the flat with her sister.

"I do not like that Kingston woman," Amabel said when she and Roger
reached the ground level. "She seems to have forced herself on to poor
Eleanor and nothing short of a cyclone will get rid of her. If I am any
judge she pries into everything. She says nasty things about everybody,
especially that nice little nurse, Florrie Spaight. She tries to boss
them all, and Eleanor is too unhappy to resist her."

"She does not seem a very pleasing person," Roger agreed. "I suppose she
could not have stolen the wee mite to gloat over her sister's misery?"

"There is no evidence that way."

"I suppose not, but jealous women can be fiends. If the doctor knew his
job he would throw her out."

"Lady Cradon needs a companion."

"Not a tormentor! But I am glad I have met you, Major Bennion. I have
some wonderful news."

"Good. What is it?"

"The B.B.C. has seen the light. Andrew is on top of the world."

"Andrew?"

"Andrew Cradon of the Society of Peacemakers. He has been trying to get
on the air for ages. Next Sunday afternoon is our chance. It is not
actually him but me. There was to have been a recital for two pianos, but
both the players are ill and they have agreed to broadcast a talk on
'Happy Homes' that I am to give at a Y.M.C.A. hall."

"That is splendid," Roger said. "Are you nervous?"

"Who wouldn't be? But I shall talk to the people there and forget that
anyone else can hear me. Valerie is frightfully thrilled. She and Bruce
are coming, and she hopes you and Mrs. Bennion will come, too."

"Of course we will. We may learn quite a lot."

CHAPTER X

VALERIE MEETS HEDLEY

A CONSIDERABLE party gathered in the committee-room of the Y.M.C.A.
before Amabel Legh was due to go on the platform to give her address. She
had brought Valerie and Bruce with her and they were received by Mr.
Andrew Cradon, his son Hedley and the local Y.M.C.A. secretary. Ruth and
Roger Bennion were there and the technical expert from the B.B.C. who was
to supervise the broadcasting arrangements. Modestly in the background
was Mrs. Croonie. Amabel could not forget her faithful helper. She
herself appeared in high spirits, but she declared she felt horribly
nervous. She had been "on the air" before, but as one of a team. To face
an audience all by herself and at the same time speak to unseen millions
with words of her own was a terrifying ordeal.

"You must be ready with the gramophone in case I break down and run
away," she said to Mr. Cradon.

"I am not afraid of that, my dear," he assured her. "It is a moment I
have long looked forward to and I am sure you will not disappoint me."

Seeing Bruce, Roger went to him and told him of his interview with his
uncle.

"I was not very cordially received and I cannot claim I learned much from
him. I tried to speak a good word for you, but with little success, I
fear."

"Kind of you to try, sir."

"Has he always been so dour?"

"He was never very genial," Bruce said, "but he seems to he getting
worse."

"Was he a sailor? How did he acquire his weather-beaten look?"

“He has always been like that. Long walks by himself in all weathers, not
rum, as you might suppose."

"I didn't." Roger laughed. "Is that white hair his own or is it a wig?"

"We always believed he was as bald as a turnip, but we never dared to
ask."

"I suppose not. What caused his dislike for his fellow men?"

"My mother told me when he was young he became engaged to a girl who got
all she could out of him and then ran away and married someone else. The
day before she went she extracted a valuable necklace from him. A vicious
gold-digger, of course."

"That does explain things," Roger said. "I suppose misanthropy is a
disease that grows worse as one feeds on it. Still, I think you should
have another try at him."

Meanwhile Valerie had been chatting with Hedley Cradon. They had not met
before, and the big good-looking young man was definitely attracted by
Amabel's slim and attractive daughter.

"I read that you and your father were giving an extra five hundred pounds
for the recovery of Lady Cradon's baby. It is splendid of you. Has it
helped at all?"

"I am afraid not. It made trouble at some of our offices. We were offered
a vast number of babies and told about a lot more. But we heard nothing
of the real little Lionel."

"What a ghastly thing it is! Your Society of Peacemakers does a lot of
good, doesn't it?"

Then someone bustled in and asked if they would take their seats, as it
was time to begin. They filed into a crowded hall. Only Amabel, Mr.
Cradon and the secretary went on to the platform, seats in the front row
having been reserved for the rest of the party. Valerie had Bruce on one
side of her and Hedley on the other. Bruce was not very pleased to see
how interested Valerie seemed to be in this newcomer.

The audience, mostly young men, clapped politely as the trio mounted the
dais. The B.B.C. representative had his headphones on and his gadgets
ready. First, Mr. Cradon stepped to the microphone. He had to fill in a
few moments before the broadcast began.

"I do not know how many of you have heard of the work of the Society of
Peacemakers. Sops some people term us, but we are also told on higher
authority that peacemakers shall be called the children of God. Is there
a greater need in the world today than peace? We do not expect or attempt
to influence national politics except by creating in all lands the desire
for peace. We try in a smaller way to make peace here, in the land, and
peace in the homes. But my friend, Miss Amabel Legh, whom so many of you
must have seen on the stage, brought me a new idea. On the stage she
generally plays an elderly part. It may surprise some of you to see how
young and charming she is in real life. She shall tell you her idea in
her own words."

He had received the signal that all was set. He turned and led Amabel to
the microphone. She was warmly welcomed. She was wearing a very
attractive grey costume with a bunch of carnations, and had a small hat
that did not obscure her features. If she was nervous she showed no sign
of it.

"I want to begin," she said in her clear, pleasing voice t