“hallo! innes,” said paul harley as his secretary entered. “someone is making a devil of a row outside.”
“this is the offender, mr. harley,” said innes, and handed my friend a visiting card.
glancing at the card, harley read aloud:
“major j. e. p. ragstaff, cavalry club.”
meanwhile a loud harsh voice, which would have been audible in a full gale, was roaring in the lobby.
“nonsense!” i could hear the major shouting. “balderdash! there's more fuss than if i had asked for an interview with the prime minister. piffle! balderdash!”
innes's smile developed into a laugh, in which harley joined, then:
“admit the major,” he said.
into the study where harley and i had been seated quietly smoking, there presently strode a very choleric anglo-indian. he wore a horsy check suit and white spats, and his tie closely resembled a stock. in his hand he carried a heavy malacca cane, gloves, and one of those tall, light-gray hats commonly termed white. he was below medium height, slim and wiry; his gait and the shape of his legs, his build, all proclaimed the dragoon. his complexion was purple, and the large white teeth visible beneath a bristling gray moustache added to the natural ferocity of his appearance. standing just within the doorway:
“mr. paul harley?” he shouted.
it was apparently an inquiry, but it sounded like a reprimand.
my friend, standing before the fireplace, his hands in his pockets and his pipe in his mouth, nodded brusquely.
“i am paul harley,” he said. “won't you sit down?”
major ragstaff, glancing angrily at innes as the latter left the study, tossed his stick and gloves on to a settee, and drawing up a chair seated himself stiffly upon it as though he were in a saddle. he stared straight at harley, and:
“you are not the sort of person i expected, sir,” he declared. “may i ask if it is your custom to keep clients dancin' on the mat and all that—on the blasted mat, sir?”
harley suppressed a smile, and i hastily reached for my cigarette-case which i had placed upon the mantelshelf.
“i am always naturally pleased to see clients, major ragstaff,” said harley, “but a certain amount of routine is necessary even in civilian life. you had not advised me of your visit, and it is contrary to my custom to discuss business after five o'clock.”
as harley spoke the major glared at him continuously, and then:
“i've seen you in india!” he roared; “damme! i've seen you in india!—and, yes! in turkey! ha! i've got you now sir!” he sprang to his feet. “you're the harley who was in constantinople in 1912.”
“quite true.”
“then i've come to the wrong shop.”
“that remains to be seen, major.”
“but i was told you were a private detective, and all that.”
“so i am,” said harley quietly. “in 1912 the foreign office was my client. i am now at the service of anyone who cares to employ me.”
“hell!” said the major.
he seemed to be temporarily stricken speechless by the discovery that a man who had acted for the british government should be capable of stooping to the work of a private inquiry agent. staring all about the room with a sort of naive wonderment, he drew out a big silk handkerchief and loudly blew his nose, all the time eyeing harley questioningly. replacing his handkerchief he directed his regard upon me, and:
“this is my friend, mr. knox,” said harley; “you may state your case before him without hesitation, unless———”
i rose to depart, but:
“sit down, mr. knox! sit down, sir!” shouted the major. “i have no dirty linen to wash, no skeletons in the cupboard or piffle of that kind. i simply want something explained which i am too thick-headed—too damned thick-headed, sir—to explain myself.”
he resumed his seat, and taking out his wallet extracted from it a small newspaper cutting which he offered to harley.
“read that, mr. harley,” he directed. “read it aloud.”
harley read as follows:
“before mr. smith, at marlborough street police court, john edward bampton was charged with assaulting a well-known clubman in bond street on wednesday evening. it was proved by the constable who made the arrest that robbery had not been the motive of the assault, and bampton confessed that he bore no grudge against the assailed man, indeed, that he had never seen him before. he pleaded intoxication, and the police surgeon testified that although not actually intoxicated, his breath had smelled strongly of liquor at the time of his arrest. bampton's employers testified to a hitherto blameless character, and as the charge was not pressed the man was dismissed with a caution.”
having read the paragraph, harley glanced at the major with a puzzled expression.
“the point of this quite escapes me,” he confessed.
“is that so?” said major ragstaff. “is that so, sir? perhaps you will be good enough to read this.”
from his wallet he took a second newspaper cutting, smaller than the first, and gummed to a sheet of club notepaper. harley took it and read as follows:
“mr. de lana, a well-known member of the stock exchange, who met with a serious accident recently, is still in a precarious condition.”
the puzzled look on harley's face grew more acute, and the major watched him with an expression which i can only describe as one of fierce enjoyment.
“you're thinkin' i'm a damned old fool, ain't you?” he shouted suddenly.
“scarcely that,” said harley, smiling slightly, “but the significance of these paragraphs is not apparent, i must confess. the man bampton would not appear to be an interesting character, and since no great damage has been done, his drunken frolic hardly comes within my sphere. of mr. de lana, of the stock exchange, i never heard, unless he happens to be a member of the firm of de lana and day?”
“he's not a member of that firm, sir,” shouted the major. “he was, up to six o'clock this evenin'.”
“what do you mean exactly?” inquired harley, and the tone of his voice suggested that he was beginning to entertain doubts of the major's sanity or sobriety; then:
“he's dead!” declared the latter. “dead as the begum of bangalore! he died at six o'clock. i've just spoken to his widow on the telephone.”
i suppose i must have been staring very hard at the speaker, and certainly harley was doing so, for suddenly directing his fierce gaze toward me:
“you're completely treed, sir, and so's your friend!” shouted major ragstaff.
“i confess it,” replied harley quietly; “and since my time is of some little value i would suggest, without disrespect, that you explain the connection, if any, between yourself, the drunken bampton, and mr. de lana, of the stock exchange, who died, you inform us, at six o'clock this evening as the result, presumably, of injuries received in an accident.”
“that's what i'm here for!” cried major ragstaff. “in the first place, then, i am the party, although i saw to it that my name was kept out of print, whom the drunken lunatic assaulted.”
harley, pipe in hand, stared at the speaker perplexedly.
“understand me,” continued the major, “i am the person—i, jack ragstaff—he assaulted. i was walkin' down from my quarters in maddox street on my way to dine at the club, same as i do every night o' my life, when this flamin' idiot sprang upon me, grabbed my hat”—he took up his white hat to illustrate what had occurred—“not this one, but one like it—pitched it on the ground and jumped on it!”
harley was quite unable to conceal his smiles as the excited old soldier dropped his conspicuous head-gear on the floor and indulged in a vigorous pantomime designed to illustrate his statement.
“most extraordinary,” said harley. “what did you do?”
“what did i do?” roared the major. “i gave him a crack on the head with my cane, and i said things to him which couldn't be repeated in court. i punched him, and likewise hoofed him, but the hat was completely done in. damn crowd collected, hearin' me swearin' and bellowin'. police and all that; names an' addresses and all that balderdash. man lugged away to guard-room and me turnin' up at the club with no hat. damn ridiculous spectacle at my time of life.”
“quite so,” said harley soothingly; “i appreciate your annoyance, but i am utterly at a loss to understand why you have come here, and what all this has to do with mr. de lana, of the stock exchange.”
“he fell out of the window!” shouted the major.
“fell out of a window?”
“out of a window, sir, a second floor window ten yards up a side street! pitched on his skull—marvel he wasn't killed outright!”
a faint expression of interest began to creep into harley's glance, and:
“i understand you to mean, major ragstaff,” he said deliberately, “that while your struggle with the drunken man was in progress mr. de lana fell out of a neighbouring window into the street?”
“right!” shouted the major. “right, sir!”
“do you know this mr. de lana?”
“never heard of him in my life until the accident occurred. seems to me the poor devil leaned out to see the fun and overbalanced. felt responsible, only natural, and made inquiries. he died at six o'clock this evenin', sir.”
“h'm,” said harley reflectively. “i still fail to see where i come in. from what window did he fall?”
“window above a sort of teashop, called cafe dame—damn silly name. place on a corner. don't know name of side street.”
“h'm. you don't think he was pushed out, for instance?”
“certainly not!” shouted the major; “he just fell out, but the point is, he's dead!”
“my dear sir,” said harley patiently, “i don't dispute that point; but what on earth do you want of me?”
“i don't know what i want!” roared the major, beginning to walk up and down the room, “but i know i ain't satisfied, not easy in my mind, sir. i wake up of a night hearin' the poor devil's yell as he crashed on the pavement. that's all wrong. i've heard hundreds of death-yells, but”—he took up his malacca cane and beat it loudly on the table—“i haven't woke up of a night dreamin' i heard 'em again.”
“in a word, you suspect foul play?”
“i don't suspect anything!” cried the other excitedly, “but someone mentioned your name to me at the club—said you could see through concrete, and all that—and here i am. there's something wrong, radically wrong. find out what it is and send the bill to me. then perhaps i'll be able to sleep in peace.”
he paused, and again taking out the large silk handkerchief blew his nose loudly. harley glanced at me in rather an odd way, and then:
“there will be no bill, major ragstaff,” he said; “but if i can see any possible line of inquiry i will pursue it and report the result to you.”
