by Lewis Hockley [Percy Longhurst].
Originally published in The Magnet Library (The Amalgamated Press, Ltd.) vol.1 #11 (25 Apr 1908).
A Visit from "Sleeping" Macdonald.
Sitting down, Lomax put his elbows on tho table and his chin on his hands, and stared fixedly at the card for several minutes. Suddenly he looked up.
"They're stopping all these cards from Leigh, with a view to finding out who is the sender," he said; "the post-office authorities are taking action. Have you seen Mrs. Brewer!"
"I didn't try. I wanted to find out about her, and so went to her friend and neighbour, Mrs. Biddlecombe."
"Did you learn anything?"
"Nothing of any importance. Have you?"
"Not yet. There's one frequent sender of these sorts of cards so I found out, whom I haven't seen yet—a kid at a local school. But what he's got to do with it is beyond me."
Silence for a few moments; then Dennis:
"Mrs. Biddlecombe thinks it's Anarchists who send these cards—she knows all about them."
Lomax laughed shortly but said nothing. Presently Dennis spoke again:
"I've seen Baxter this evening," he remarked.
"Oh!" Lomax didn’t seem interested.
"Yes; he made a good suggestion."
"What was it?"
"That as we'd got a case, he'd write it and us up in one of his papers if we like. It ought to do us a lot of good—a good advertisement."
"For him; also good for his pocket. Where do we come in?"
"We get the advertisement, Also we might derive some help from the publicity given."
"Don't see it," growled Lomax. "If it's all the same to you, Frank, we'll do this job on our own."
"All right. By tho way, this card you're looking at was not written by the same person that wrote the others?"
Lomax slowly raised his eyes from the card in question and looked fixedly at his chum.
"What makes you think so?" he asked slowly.
"Difference in the writing. You can't see it with the naked eye, but it's plain beneath the magnifier. Have a squint at it through the glass, and then compare it with one of those you have."
Lomax took the glass, carefully examined every scrap of penmanship on the card, and then, taking one of the other cards from his bag, did the same with that. Then he looked across at Dennis.
"I believe you're right. But what then?"
"Still further complicates matters, doesn't it?"
"So it seems to me."
Lomax fished out other cards and put them under the magnifier.
"There are differences," ho said, after a while, "The strokes here are not as fine and straight, less clean, and a bit shaky."
"That's what I think. Bob, this card I found is a forgery—that is to say, an imitation of the others."
"Well?"
"Someone's been trying to copy them."
"Why should anyone?"
"Ah! That's what we want to find out! I think—"
"Well?"
"That we might do so if we interviewed Mr. McDonald, from whose pocket the card fell. He's a professional boxer."
"How can he help us?"
"We can ask him to call here, and then demand from him an explanation as to his possession of the card. I wouldn't be surprised if you went through all the batch of cards you'd find others—the later ones—are forgeries."
Lomax suddenly got on his feet and stamped to and fro across the room.
"What's in your mind, Frank?" he asked impatiently, stopping and facing his partner. "What is it you're thinking of?"
"Don't feel quite sure, old man," Dennis answered frankly. "I've got an idea, but it's hazy and indefinite. But suppose we send a note to McDonald?"
"All right; though I don't see what good it's going to do," the elder partner answered.
So a letter was written and despatched that evening to "Sleeping" McDonald, informing that gentleman that if he turned up at the office of Maxennis next morning at midday he would hear of something greatly to his advantage.
"What d'you think we're going to get out of this if McDonald does show up?" inquired Lomax, when the letter was sealed and stamped.
"I don't know, I tell you," was the answer. "But we might be able to get McDonald into betraying what connection he has with the postcard business—and it appears quite evident he has some; persuade or threaten him into revealing how and why this forged card came into his possession."
"Might!" commented Lomax, but it was a very dubious tone of voice in which he spoke. "Well, anyway, I'm going to act on your hint, and go over all the cards with this magnifier."
Lomax sat up until late over his job, and the result he communicated to his partner next morning.
"You were right, Frank," he said, as they set about preparations for their breakfast.
It will be recollected that the same room which served as an office also did duty as bed and sitting-room for the budding detectives. A couple of small folding beds had been purchased, and these were stowed away in one corner during the day-time. Lomax having rigged up some curtains on an iron rod, so that they might be concealed from the eyes of possible visitors.
For such meals as they had so far taken in their abode they were themselves responsible. He's a poor sort of young man of twenty who does not know how to make tea, fry rashers of bacon, or cook a steak or sausages, and to the class who don't, neither Lomax nor Dennis belonged. Their culinary skill might not have been sufficient to have brought them to the post of chef at the Hotel Cecil, but they were quite at home at such cooking as suited themselves. They had only themselves to please, and in such circumstances one is seldom found serving a hard taskmaster.
Bread and butter, eggs and marmalade, cheese and other aids against the pangs of hunger, were easily obtainable in the immediate neighbourhood, and, so far at least, neither had expressed any decided depreciation of their own efforts as compared with those of their late landlady, Mrs. Williams. Meals became even a greater pleasure when they had only themselves to depend upon for the cooking thereof.
Dennis looked up from the careful measuring of the proper quantity of tea into the teapot, and, in reply to his chum's remark, observed airily:
"Don't apologise; I knew I was. What are you talking about?"
"The cards," replied Bob, deftly turning on the little iron dish before the fire two substantial rashers of bacon. This done, he continued his toast-making operations. "There's about seven of the latest our client received which would appear to be written by a different person—the glass shows it plainly."
"I felt sure you'd find it so."
No more was said until breakfast preparations were completed, and the two young men sat down, each with a smoking rasher of bacon on his plate, a big cup of tea beside it, and a huge pile of dry toast, which was common property. Four boiled eggs—rather small, for Lomax said eggs were eggs, and to pay the price demanded for selected new laid ones was an extravagance their means did not entitle them to—a half-slaughtered loaf of bread, butter, and a three-pound jar of marmalade awaited attention when the bacon should be disposed of.
But when the keen edge had been taken off their appetites and the initial cup of tea disposed of, Lomax suddenly turned on his chum.
"You're an irritating sort of brute, you know, Dennis," he began.
"What's the matter now?"
"Why, it's as plain as—plain as Mr. Harvey J. Baxter's face, and I should call him downright ugly, that you've got some idea, something fresh, concerning this blessed case in your brain; you hint at it, and suggest it, and talk around it, but you'll say nothing. Why on earth can't you say what it is. Here I'm groping altogether in the dark. Tell me what it is you mean, and I might be of some help. Two heads are always better than one—even when that one is yours!"
"My dear chap," Dennis replied. "I've already said I can't tell you; really, there's nothing to tell. All I suspect is that this boxing fellow, McDonald, knows something about the business; what that something may be I can't even form a suspicion; but if he doesn't, why that postcard in his pocket?"
"Sure it came out of his pocket?"
Couldn't have come from anywhere else, so far as I can see; the postman didn't drop it, that's self-evident. But we'll soon see if there's anything in what I say."
They did see, and several hours earlier than they suspected, for while "Maxennis" was engaged in clearing away the fragments of their eight-thirty breakfast there came a knock at the door, and immediately after it was opened the knocker walked in without waiting for permission.
It was "Sleeping" McDonald, and his face betrayed the feeling of much inward excitement and pleasurable anticipation. He was nearly three hours in advance of the appointed time. The words "something greatly to his advantage" had whetted his curiosity and filled him with lively expectation. He reckoned he'd come upon a good thing, and he was taking care that it should not be lost through tardiness in seizing the opportunity. Immediately on reading the letter he had donned his best clothes and started out for Fleet Street, unable to wait patiently until midday.
He entered the room with a light, active step, the movement of a man to whom the quickness in the use of his feet has become a matter of everyday habit; and in his eyes, as he looked inquiringly from Dennis to Lomax, was pleasurable anticipation.
"Right for Maxennis, guv'nor?" he asked, with an ingratiating grin on his very solid features. He had not recognised Frank Dennis.
"Yes; you are—" answered Lomax.
"My name's McDonald, Alexander McDonald!" the pugilist answered, with a certain pride in his voice. In the boxing world Alexander McDonald was somebody, and the owner of the name didn't forget it.
Robert Lomax looked the visitor up and down, and mentally decided that he was a "hard case." He didn't look the sort of fellow who might be easily persuaded, still less did he have the appearance of one who might be coerced. His was a typical face of those of his class. The forehead was not so very low and somewhat broad, the eyes, small and set somewhat close together, seemed as if they could look wickedly dangerous, and as expression of fierceness was given by the eyebrows, which formed a thick, continuous line above the bridge of his nose, which organ, by the way, had evidently suffered an alteration of its natural shape.
There was courage, animal courage, in the wide nsstrils, and resolution in the thin, firmly-shut lips, broad chin, and square jaw. He didn't look the sort of man who it is necessary shall be boxed up in a corner before he will show fight. Very much the reverse, in fact. As many of his ring opponents could have borne witness, he was as ready to fight in his antagonist's corner as in his own, preferred it, to tell the truth.
"Yer wrote to me," he went on.
"We did; you're a little before your time."
Lomax was spokesman, for Dennis, who did not wish for his recognition to have a prejudicial effect upon the results of the interview, had turned his face to the window, and so out of McDonald's vision.
"Yus, guv'nor; but when it's good news the sooner yer gets to it the bet'er, I says!"
"Quite true," Lomax assented. "Your coming a trifle in advance is no inconvenience. Will you sit down?"
McDonald sat down, recollecting himself, and removing from his close-cropped head his shepherd's-plaid golf-cap.
"Say, guv'nor," he said easily, putting his heels on the front rail of the chair; "wot's Maxennis?"
"The name of the firm."
"Yer're boxin' promoters or managers, I reckon!"
"Oh, no!" Lomax did not even smile.
McDonald's face fell a trifle.
"Ain't yer connected with boxin'?" he asked. "I thought yer was goin' to make me a new match; or find me another backer."
"No; we have nothing to do with boxing."
The pugilist was obviously disappointed.
"Are yer solicitors?" he asked, after a short pause.
The second of two ideas which the receipt of the letter had originated in his brain occurred to him.
"No; nor solicitors either."
"Well, guv'nor, what bloomin' business is yours?" he asked, a trifle irritably; his imagination had quite failed him.
"Well," Lomax replied, "'Maxennis' is an investigator."
The word was evidently new to McDonald--detective he would have understood. He looked puzzled.
"Well, guv'nor, lets hear what yer've got to say, anyway!" he cried.
"Well, Mr. McDonald," began Lomax--he scarcely knew what he was going to say to the man, for there had been no opportunity for him to discuss with his partner on what lines the interview with McDonald was to be conducted--"well, Mr. McDonald, the business of Maxennis is that of finding solutions to the many mysteries which are continually coming into existence. Maxennis traces lost persons, undertakes the finding of criminals, gets down to the why, and the whereof and the identity of the perpetrators of robberies, murders, etc.; in short, Maxennis is, as I have said, an investigator of every curious, mysterious, secret, and incomprehensible happening which individual or public exigencies require should be inquired into."