Discussion, incessantly promoted by Mr. Harte, on the probable cause of the Seamew 's end was put a stop to by his mother, who forbade him to mention the matter again in her hearing. She herself, disbelieving his story, had no particular objection to his exercising his imagination in speculating upon the possibility of his stepbrother's life having been threatened, but Emily Kane, overhearing one of his more lurid flights, demanded to be told the whole and was so much disturbed by it that Patricia had considerable difficulty in soothing her alarms and coaxing her back to tolerably good humour.
Agitation in Emily invariably made her short-tempered.
She would have scorned to betray a feminine weakness or to ask for reassurance. She reassured herself by denouncing the bare idea of Jim's life being in danger as stuff and nonsense and saying she had never heard anything to equal it, found fault with everyone who came near her, and supposed that Timothy got his silly notions from his mother.
Norma took this in good part, laughing in genuine amusement and saying: "Quite wrong, Aunt Emily; he got these particular notions from his friend Roberts. I think they're ridiculous."
Emily's mouth worked. She glared at Lady Harte and said: "That man! What's it got to do with him? Encroaching ways! I've no patience with him!"
Jim came into the room in time to hear this familiar phrase and said promptly: "Somebody been annoying you, Aunt? You look horribly fierce."
From no one but Jim would Emily have tolerated such a teasing form of address, but since he could do no wrong in her eyes she merely nodded at him and replied: "If you take my advice, you'll send him about his business!"
"Who?" inquired Jim, beginning to fill his pipe.
"That Roberts. Your cousin wouldn't have anything to do with his flibbertigibbet scheme. I don't know what he wants here, treating the house as though it belonged to him!"
Jim let this somewhat unfair accusation pass unchallenged. "I imagine he's trying to unravel the mystery of Clement's death. Sometimes I think he's on to something the police haven't discovered, but he doesn't give away much."
Emily's twisted hands gripped the handle of her ebony stick more tightly. "Impudence! Poking his nose into our affairs! I'd like to give him a piece of my mind!"
"You probably will," said Jim, smiling down at her over the lighted match he was holding above the bowl of his pipe.
"Serve him right!" said Emily. "If people would mind their own business it would be a better thing for everyone."
"Well, I don't know," replied Jim. "If Roberts can clear up the mystery, I'm all for it. I think we've had about enough of it, and the police don't seem to be doing much, do they?"
"They're doing more than they're wanted to!" said Emily angrily. "Getting us into the papers and digging up what's best left alone! I don't know what your great-uncle would say if he were alive to see it."
"It's got to be dug up, Aunt, whether we like it or not."
She made no reply to this, but folded her lips, and sat with her remote stare fixed on the space before her.
Lady Harte said: "I don't think the publicity matters at all. One gets used to that sort of thing. I've had so much of it I never think twice about it."
"I dare say," said Emily disagreeably. She transferred her gaze to Jim's face. "What's this pack of nonsense I hear about your being in danger?"
"Just that," he answered. "A pack of nonsense."
"One of that Roberts' tales. What next, I wonder! The sooner we see the back of him the better. Putting ideas into Timothy's head!"
"To do him justice, I don't think he mentioned the matter to Timothy at all. He warned me. And though I personally think it's rot, you must admit it was a kindly act on his part."
Emily gave a short laugh. "Trying to get round you to fall in with his scheme, I've no doubt. Don't you go making any rash promises!"
He smiled and shook his head. Emily glared suspicion. "Have those Mansells been at you again?" she demanded.
"No. I met Joe Mansell in Portlaw today, and he said he wanted to talk things over with me. I've arranged to call and see him at the office tomorrow morning. I expect he'll bring the question up then."
"What are you going to say?"
"Nothing. I've been talking to Adrian about it—"
"I should like to know what he thinks he knows about it!" interjected Emily scornfully.
"Oh, Adrian's no fool!" said Lady Harte.
"As a matter of fact, he doesn't think he knows anything about it," said Jim. "His advice is that I should go up and lay the proposition before Everard and Dawson—which I propose to do as soon as things have straightened themselves out a bit here."
Emily was unable to find fault with this, so she relapsed into silence.
"Does Patricia know you're going to see Joe tomorrow?" asked Lady Harte.
"No. I haven't said anything to her about it."
"Then don't. She'll only start imagining things."
"I'm not going to. You two—and Adrian, of course—are the only people I've told. Not that I think the most jumpy person, which Pat isn't, could possibly expect any harm to overtake me. Even if the Mansells were out for my blood, they'd hardly try to bump me off in their own offices. However, Pat's a trifle worked up over the whole show, so there's no point in saying anything about it to her."
Lady Harte looked at him consideringly. "The whole idea's absurd. All the same, there's no harm in being prepared. Do you carry a gun?"
He laughed. "No, my dear, I don't."
"I should, if I were you. Whenever I change my camp I make it a rule to set up a line of bottles and have a little revolver practice in full sight of the village. I've never had a bit of trouble. Never even been robbed."
"You're a turn-in yourself, Mother," said Jim appreciatively. "But this isn't Darkest Africa, and I doubt whether anyone would be impressed by my marksmanship."
"Nonsense, you're not a bad shot! Don't depreciate yourself so much!" said his mother severely.
However, when he set out for Portlaw the following morning, Mr. James Kane was unarmed and unaccompanied.
For this last he had to thank his stepfather, who rescued him from the toils of Mr. Harte.
Jim found Sir Adrian in the garage, inexpertly replenishing his cigarette lighter from a large tin of petrol.
Like most men more accustomed to working with their heads than with their hands, he had contrived to make a major operation of a small task. He wore an expression of profound distaste and, when his stepson walked into the garage, said that it was a pity he had not arrived sooner.
"What a Godforsaken mess!" remarked Jim. "Why don't you get the thing filled at a tobacconist's?"
"Can I?" said Sir Adrian vaguely. "I have never owned one of these infernal things before. Your mother gave it to me. I wish that she would try to curb her generous impulses." He wiped his hands on an oily rag and looked at the result with patient resignation. "Are you going to see Joseph Mansell now? Your mother has been talking arrant nonsense to me about the advisability of your carrying a gun. I hope you are not infected by the general atmosphere of melodrama reigning in this absurd house."
"Not noticeably," replied Jim, putting away the tin of petrol and stepping up to his car. "Did Pat go with Aunt Emily?"
"No, she took the omnibus into Portlaw. Your mother went with Mrs. Kane."
Jim smiled. "I like to think of Mother driving sedately out for an airing in a large and respectable Daimler. Do you want anything in the town, sir?"
"No, nothing, thank you. Ah, Jim!"
Jim had stepped into his car, but he turned his head inquiringly towards his stepfather.
Sir Adrian polished his monocle and said blandly: "Don't commit yourself in any way, Jim."
"Not going to," said Jim.
"You may find it a trifle awkward, dealing with a man old enough to be your father. You can with perfect propriety point out to Mansell that you have as yet no certain knowledge of your financial position. And, Jim!"
"Sir?"
"If you see that ill-conditioned son of Mansell, do not let your very natural desire to—er—push his face in run away with you."
Jim laughed. "You know, you really ought to come with me, Adrian."
"I should be quite out of place, believe me, my dear boy. Well, Timothy, what is it?"
His son, who had entered the garage, said: "Nothing. Oh, I say, Jim, are you going out? Can I come too?"
"Certainly not," replied Sir Adrian. "Jim is going into Portlaw on business."
"Well, I could wait for him, couldn't I?"
"No. Strange as it may seem to you, you are not wanted," said Sir Adrian.
"He can come if he likes, sir," said Jim, starting his engine. "I don't mind."
"You will do much better without him. No, Timothy."
"But, Father, why can't I—"
Sir Adrian's aloof gaze came to bear on his son's face. "No, Timothy," he repeated in a patient voice.
Mr. Harte sighed and refrained from further speech.
Jim backed the Bentley out of the garage and said with a twinkle: "How do you get your results, sir? Is it the power of the human eye?"
Sir Adrian smiled faintly. "Just force of personality," he replied.
His son, guessing correctly that this interchange referred to himself, gave an injured sniff and walked off in a dudgeon.
Jim covered the five miles by the coast road round the bay into Portlaw at his usual swift speed and threaded his way through the streets of the town to the offices of Kane and Mansell, situated in one of the busiest roads. A policeman, taking exception to his evident desire to leave his car parked in the main street, directed him firmly down a side street to the yard at the back of the building. Here Jim found Paul Mansell's sports roadster standing under the shelter of a lean-to roof. He ran the Bentley up alongside it, and got out, and entered the building through the back door. Being quite unfamiliar with the place, he plunged into a labyrinth of packing and ledger rooms and created a sensation amongst the female staff. These damsels, recognising the new head of the firm, and most favourably impressed by his appearance, found his arrival in the back premises extremely funny, or—as they themselves later described it—a perfect scream. There was much staring, a good deal of giggling, and any number of Oh—Mr. Kanes! before one, less impressionable than her sisters, volunteered to escort him to Mr. Mansell's office. Mr. James Kane was not a shy man, but under the battery of admiring, curious or amused eyes he perceptibly changed colour and was thankful to find himself presently in a less populous part of the building.
Joe Mansell was alone and greeted his young visitor with almost effusive kindliness, patting him on the shoulder, settling him in the easiest chair the room held, and thrusting a box of cigars towards him. From his opening gambit of: "Well, Jim, I expect you're feeling all at sea, eh, my boy?" Jim realised that his stepfather had been right in prophesying an awkward interview.
In actual fact it was not as difficult as he had anticipated.
Paul Mansell put in no appearance, and for the first half-hour Joe Mansell confined his discourse to an exposition of the firm's aims and standing. Jim attended to him closely, asked several intelligent questions, and was warmly complimented upon his grasp of the business.
"Well, then there's this Australian proposition we're interested in," said Joe. "I'd better give you some idea of what it all means."
Jim said politely that he would be very grateful to have the matter explained to him, and sat in interested silence while Joe talked. Joe, becoming more bluff and fatherly every minute, soon inspired him with some of his dead cousin's contempt for his mental capacity. He found himself growing steadily more hostile to a scheme put forward so speciously and presently interposed to put forward a tentative suggestion of his own that the firm should be turned into a public company.
Even as he said it, he knew that he had not the smallest intention of allowing Joe Mansell to get control. It would seem like a betrayal of Clement and Silas, and John, and old Matthew Kane, the founder of the house.
He was conscious for the first time in his life of family pride stirring in him. These Mansells aren't going to control my business! he thought. Damn it all, I'm a Kane!
Joe, watching him, saw the hardening of his mouth and jaw, and a steely light in his eyes unpleasantly reminiscent of his cousin Silas. Quelling his own exasperation, he became even more paternal and told Jim he could well appreciate his point of view but thought that Jim must just trust him to guide his footsteps aright.
Before Jim could think of a polite way of saying that he had no intention of being guided by a Mansell an interruption occurred. A knock fell on the door, and immediately following it Oscar Roberts walked into the room.
Jim, who had expected to see Paul Mansell, and had turned his head with a gathering frown on his brow, got up with a look of relief.
Joe's expression said plainly that he had not expected this visit and did not appreciate it. He greeted Roberts with a bare assumption of cordiality and said pointedly that he was having a private chat with the firm's new head.
"So they told me," replied Roberts, his coldly calculating gaze resting for a moment on Joe's heavy countenance. "Guess what you're talking about is as much my show as anyone's, isn't it?" He shook hands with Jim. "Say, Kane, if you want anyone to explain my firm's proposition to you, I'm the man you're looking for."
"Naturally, naturally!" Joe said. "You—er—you have come at a most opportune moment, Roberts. We were discussing your proposition."
"I thought maybe you were," said Roberts ironically. He glanced round the room with a look of surprise. "I don't see Mr. Paul Mansell. Is he out?"
Joe reddened a little. "My son has a lot of work on hand. His presence is really not necessary."
"Well, I certainly thought I should find him here," said Roberts, lowering his long limbs into a chair. "What do you want me to tell you, Kane?"
"Really, I don't think you need tell me anything," replied Jim. He laid his hand on a typescript lying on the desk. "It's all here, isn't it? With your permission, Mr. Mansell, I'll take it home with me and study it at my leisure."
"Of course! Certainly! But time presses, you know, Jim. Can't keep our good friend here hanging about indefinitely."
"It's O.K. by me," said Roberts. "I'd like to have Kane go into it by himself and come to an unbiased decision. If he feels he'd rather not take it on, why, I shall quite understand and go elsewhere."
Joe Mansell looked dissatisfied but gave a reluctant agreement. After a few minutes of somewhat idle talk the interview came to an end. Joe shook hands with Jim, prophesying that he would soon acquire a grasp of the business, and Jim and Roberts went out together.
Jim said, with a slight touch of annoyance: "Are you by any chance constituting yourself as a bodyguard to me, sir?"
"I won't say just that," replied Roberts carefully. "Though you sure are walking right into the lion's den when you visit that office."
"Really, sir, don't you think you're being a trifle absurd? Did you expect to find a corpse, or what?"
Roberts laughed. "No, no, it's not as bad as that. Maybe I thought it would do no harm to let the Mansells know I'm wise to your visit. You want to watch your step, Kane."
"I don't wish to seem ungrateful, but, to tell you the truth, I've had about enough drama. Joe Mansell's been a friend of the family for half a century, and—"
"That's fine," said Roberts imperturbably. "What's the drama you speak of?"
"My stepfather calls it melodrama. I could wish you had not repeated your dark warning to my fiancйe, you know."
"Is that so? Well, I certainly am sorry if I've upset Miss Allison. I didn't mean to do that."
"The trouble is, she's got things a bit out of focus since the accident to my boat," said Jim.
Roberts looked at him. "The accident to your boat?" he repeated.
Jim gave a rueful laugh. "Oh, Timothy started a hare over that, you know, and he and Patricia have been chasing it ever since. He even told Superintendent Hannasyde about it. The genial theory is that the boat was tampered with, with the idea that I should go down with her. Nothing will get it out of their heads."
"No?" said Roberts.
Jim stopped dead in his tracks. "Look here, sir, you're not going to tell me you believe such a damned silly story?"
"Well," said Roberts, "I wouldn't go so far as to say I actually believe it, but if I were you, I wouldn't dismiss it too carelessly. I'm sorry Miss Allison got hold of the notion: I hoped she wouldn't. Guess that was a trick that can't be pulled twice, so there was no sense in alarming the ladies unnecessarily."
"Good God, sir, did it occur to you, then?"
"Sure it occurred to me," replied Roberts calmly. "But when there's no way of proving a thing, there's no sense in talking about it. What did the superintendent make of it?"
"I don't think he made anything of it. It's obvious Timothy must have hit something."
"Maybe if the superintendent occupied himself with what isn't so obvious he'd get along better," commented Roberts.
They had traversed the side street by this time and come to the entrance of Kane and Mansell's yard.
"Well, sir, I still think the whole thing's impossible," said Jim. "I've got my car parked here. Can I give you a lift anywhere?"
"That's very good of you; but I've only a step to go. You take that proposition of mine home with you and study it." He pointed to the typescript under Jim's arm. "Maybe you'll give me a ring some time, and I'll be glad to come along and discuss it with you."
"Very good of you, sir; I will," said Jim, shaking hands.
He extricated his car from the yard and drove up the side street to the main road. As he paused, awaiting his opportunity to cut across the traffic, he saw Miss Allison, waiting by a bus stop and laden with parcels. Half a minute later he drew up alongside her and said: "Taxi, miss?"
"Good Lord, where did you spring from?" said Patricia, thankfully climbing into the car. "I didn't know you were going to—" She stopped and looked accusingly at him. "You've been to the office!"
"I have."
"Jim, you idiot, do you mean to tell me you deliberately kept it dark from me? Why on earth?"
"Well, seeing as how you go into a sort of flat spin every time anyone mentions the accursed name of Mansell, I thought it might be kinder to say nothing."
"I call that absolutely insulting!" declared Miss Allison. "As though I should be afraid of your going to your own offices! If there's one place where you're bound to be safe, it's there. Look here, I do wish you wouldn't drive at a hundred miles an hour!"
"This, my girl, is a limit area, and I'm driving within the limit," said Mr. Kane.
"I'm sure you were doing at least forty. Anyway, do go slowly! I want to talk to you."
"My sweet, I'll drive you in third all the way home. There shall be nothing to alarm you."
"I'm not exactly alarmed," said Miss Allison, "because I know you're an expert; but you must admit that the way you streak along the coast road is enough to put the wind up anyone."
Mr. Kane promised humbly to mend his ways and indeed proceeded to drive Miss Allison home at a decorous speed. In fact, so decorous did it become that she broke off in the middle of a sentence to say: "Darling Jim, is there a hearse ahead?"
"There is no pleasing some people," said Mr. Kane, accelerating slightly and swinging round a big bend in the road. "First she slangs me for speeding, then—"
He stopped. The car was not responding to his hands on the wheel. He felt the front wheels floating, threw the car swiftly out of gear, and jammed on his brakes.
Miss Allison, looking inquiringly up at him, saw his face set and rather white, became aware of the car pursuing a most erratic course, gasped: "Look out! You'll have her in the ditch!" and the next instant found herself flung half out of the car into a quickthorn hedge, with her betrothed on top of her. Mr. Kane extricated himself swiftly and hauled Miss Allison up. "Sorry, darling!" he said rather breathlessly. "Hurt?"
"No, not particularly," said Miss Allison with admirable calm. "What happened?"
"The steering went," he replied. "By God's grace we were going slow. If we'd been travelling at any speed we would have been a couple of goners by this time. You've scratched your cheek, darling."
"I have also bruised my shoulder," said Miss Allison, dabbing her cheek with a handkerchief. She looked at the car, lying drunkenly against the bank, with two wheels in the ditch. "What do you suppose made the steering go?" she asked, in a painstakingly casual voice.
"No idea. I shall be able to tell when we've salvaged her," replied Jim, dusting his trousers. "Now, my love, the next move is to get you home. I'm afraid it'll have to be the bus after all."
"It'll be along in a minute or two. What are you going to do?"
"Walk back to Lamb's Garage and get hold of a breakdown gang to tow her in."
She nodded. "All right. Rescue my parcels, will you, Jim? I'll send the Daimler down for you as soon as Mrs. Kane gets back with it."
"Tell Jackson to pick me up at Lamb's," he said. "And look here, Pat! Don't say too much about this at home."
"No, I won't. I'll just say we had a breakdown." She saw the omnibus approaching and hesitated. "I—wish I hadn't got to go home, Jim."
"It's all right," he said. "Nothing's going to happen to me."
She gave his hand a squeeze, bestowed a slightly tremulous smile upon him, and climbed into the omnibus.
Mr. James Kane stood for a minute or two thoughtfully looking his car over. It was obviously impossible to discover much while she reposed drunkenly in the ditch, so after frowning at her in some perplexity he set off with his long easy stride down the road in the direction of the nearest garage.
Half an hour later the Bentley, hauled from the ditch and towed to the garage, stood jacked up in the middle of the workshop, and Jim, with the foreman and two mechanics, was inspecting the track rod, which hung loose on the right side, causing the left front wheel to float.
"You lorst the nut that holds the ball joint of the track rod, sir, that's what you done," explained the elder of the two mechanics, eager to impart information. "You look how it is on the right side, sir: that'll show you. You got this nut on the ball joint, and this split pin you see here to hold it in place. Now you can see what happens if you was to lose the split pin, and the nut come unscrewed-like."
The foreman interrupted him somewhat severely. "Mr. Kane doesn't need you to tell him that." He looked at Jim. ''Queer set-out, sir. What beats me is how it ever happened."
"Yes," said Jim.
"Been smeared all over with muck too," said the foreman, peering at the screw thread on the track rod.
"I noticed that," said Jim.
The foreman shot him a quick, arrested look, and then turned to the elder mechanic, and sent him off upon some errand. The younger mechanic, a solemn Scot of few words, looked gravely at him and waited.
"Mr. Kane, that didn't happen natural," said the foreman. "I know your car. That pin never came out on its own, nor that muck didn't get there without it was put. If you was to ask me, I should say there had been some dirty work done."
The young Scot delivered himself of an utterance.
"Ay," he said weightily.
"Looks like it," said Jim. "Can you let me have a car? I want to go back to the spot where the nut must have come off and look for it."
"That's right, sir. I'll send Andy here with you."
It was Andy who, on the bend of the coast road where the Bentley had got out of control, found the nut, rolled to the side of the road, and delivered himself of a second utterance. "That'll be it," he said, holding it in a grimy palm. He paused to recruit his forces and added: "Lebber't ower wi' muck."
He did not speak again until they reached the garage.
Then as Jim stopped the car he roused himself from deep reflection and said simply that he doubted somebody's plans had misgaed.
The foreman took the nut and said: "That's it all right. You didn't find any sign of the split pin, sir, I know."
Jim shook his head. "I didn't expect to. Look here, Mason, I'd rather you didn't talk too much about this."
"Mr. Kane, sir, I'm ready to take my oath your car's been doctored. You ought to tell the police."
"I'm going to. They'll probably come and interrogate you."
"They're welcome. I'll tell them what I know, which is that your car was in beautiful running order when I had her for overhaul two days ago. She's a lovely piece of work." He laid an affectionate hand on one crumpled wing. "She's not one of these cheap tin kettles on wheels anything could happen to, and, what's more, you aren't the kind of driver who mishandles his car. Someone took the split pin out, and loosened that nut so it would work off. What do you say, Andy?"
"Ay," said Andy, slowly nodding his head.
Mrs. Kane's chauffeur came into the workshop at this moment and touched his hat to Jim. "I've brought the car down, sir." He cast a curious, professional eye over the Bentley and looked inquiringly at Jim.
"Take a look at her," said Jim.
The chauffeur obeyed with alacrity. The foreman and Andy stood in silence, watching him.
"What do you make of it, Jackson?"
The chauffeur looked at the nut held out to him by Mason and then at Jim. "That's duly work, sir, or I'm a Dutchman. That never happened on its own. My Lord, there's someone laying for you, sir! Master Timothy's right!"
"Looks like it," said Jim. "Run me in to the police station, will you? I'd better try and get hold of the superintendent."
As good luck would have it, Hannasyde was just coming away from the police station when the Daimler drew up and set Jim down. He stopped on the steps and said: "Good morning, Mr. Kane. Do you want me, by any chance?"
"Yes, I do," replied Jim. "Can you spare me ten minutes?"
"Of course. Come inside."
Jim followed him into the police station and to a small bare office leading out of the charge room. Hannasyde shut the door and pushed forward a chair near the desk. "Sit down, Mr. Kane. What can I do for you?"
"I don't know, but I hope you can do something," replied Jim with a rueful smile. "I've just had what might easily have been a fatal accident in my car."
"Indeed?" Hannasyde moved to the other side of the desk and sat down. "Go on, Mr. Kane. Where did it happen, and how?"
"On the coast road, on my way home from Portlaw. I had Miss Allison beside me and mercifully wasn't driving at any speed. As I swung round the first big bend in the road I lost all control over the steering, felt my front wheels floating, and ended up in the ditch. Had I been driving at anything like my normal speed we should both of us have been killed. As it is, I was going slow, and we got off with a few bruises. Do you know anything about cars, Superintendent?"
"A certain amount. Not very much."
"Let me have that pencil then. will you? Thanks. Now, I had the car hauled out of the ditch and towed to Lamb's Garage. We discovered that the track rod—that's the rod that runs between the two front wheels, like this—was loose at one end." He sketched a rough diagram on the back of an envelope. "At each end of the track rod there's a ball joint which fits into it and is held by a nut, here. Do you see? Holding that nut is a split pin. When we inspected the car, the nut on the left end of the rod was missing. The pin also, of course. I went back along the road with one of the garage hands and found the nut. It had been smeared over with a lot of muck."
"Are you suggesting that it was done deliberately, Mr. Kane?"
"No, I'm not suggesting," replied Jim. "I'm asserting. It was done deliberately: there can be no doubt about that. Someone removed the split pin securing the nut, and, I should say, unscrewed the nut down to the last few threads, messed it up thoroughly with a lot of oil and muck, and left it like that. The first big bend in the road, with the consequent pull on the wheels, did the rest of the trick. Had I not had Miss Allison with me it was a safe bet I should have been travelling somewhere between forty and fifty miles an hour, in which case I should have smashed myself and the car to glory."
Hannasyde raised his eyes from the diagram he had picked up and said: "Yes, I understand this all right. Do you suppose your car was tampered with at Cliff House, or elsewhere?"
"Elsewhere. I can't think that the nut, loosened as it must have been, would have held all the way to Portlaw and halfway back again."
"Did you leave your car anywhere in Portlaw?"
"Yes, I did," replied Jim. "I left it for about an hour in the yard at the back of Kane and Mansell's offices in Bridge Street."