A Man Like Valmon Dain Is Too Hot for Me
The silence continued.
Then, after a few seconds, it was broken by the crisp, professional voice of the telephone operator.
"Number, please?"
Count Lazard drew the instrument a little closer.
"This is Count Lazard speaking," he said smoothly.
"I'm sorry to trouble you, Miss, but I believe there may be something wrong with my telephone."
"Has anyone been trying to ring me?"
"I couldn't say for certain, sir," the operator replied politely, "but I don't think so."
"No one has called and failed to get through?"
"No, sir. Not during the last hour, at least."
"Just one more question."
"Is there perhaps a crossed wire on your switchboard? One that could accidentally connect another exchange to my line?"
"Just a moment, sir. I'll check."
There was a brief pause.
Then the girl's voice returned.
"No, sir."
"Your line is perfectly clear."
"So far as I know, it has remained clear all morning."
"Would you like me to report the matter to the supervisor?"
"Oh, no."
"It's nothing of importance."
"Thank you."
Lazard gently replaced the receiver.
For a few moments he sat staring thoughtfully at the black telephone.
A faint gleam of suspicion flickered in his eyes.
Then he turned calmly back to Tansy.
"Now then," he said.
"You were telling me about Mr. Valmon Dain."
"I believe you had reached the point where you recognised his photograph in the morning newspapers."
"Was that the first proof Lyall had that Dain was the man who had been acting as a police spy?"
"I believe so, sir."
"And he took it badly."
"Very badly."
"Half his gang and most of his closest friends ended up in Dartmoor because of Valmon Dain."
"He shopped the lot."
"One after another."
"Like knocking over a row of ninepins."
"And Mr. Lyall was savage."
"Dain knew he wasn't making his money honestly."
"Dain knew?" Lazard repeated quietly.
"Yes, sir."
"One morning Mr. Lyall received a queer telegram."
"And afterwards a letter card."
"Anonymous, both of them."
"But they made it look as though Dain knew every crooked game Mr. Lyall had ever played."
"That's about all I know."
"Mr. Lyall summed it up for himself."
"I see."
"And then?"
"He went over to Hendon last night."
"He had some capsules in his pocket."
"Hm."
"Murder?"
"As cold as an icicle, Guv'nor."
"He looked as though he'd have murdered half the world."
Lazard regarded him thoughtfully.
"You expect me to believe that Lyall was reckless enough to tell you he intended to murder Valmon Dain?"
"Well, somebody had to arrange his alibi."
"There wasn't time for him to do it himself."
"So I handled that part."
"There were about thirty of us helping."
"It was an alibi that would've beaten twenty King's Counsel."
"He even wanted me to do the job."
"But a man like Valmon Dain is too hot for me."
"I told him so."
"He's cleared out."
"Went off in his motor car."
"Can't you see his game, sir?"
"He's going to carry on quietly from Kingsway."
"He's Mr. Landring Dent now."
"Nobody there knows him by any other name."
"I reckon he's had that office for years."
"He's as safe as a row of houses."
"Quite," said Lazard calmly.
"That seems obvious."
"But may I ask..."
"Why have you brought this information to me?"
His voice had become almost friendly.
It purred with effortless courtesy.
"Well, Guv'nor, I heard this morning that you were the first one who guessed something funny was going on."
"You knew there was somebody working behind the scenes."
"You just didn't know who."
"Well..."
"Now you do."
"I thank you for the information," Lazard replied coldly.
"I confess I had not credited you with such powers of observation."
He leaned back slightly.
"You may leave."
"Any further knowledge I require I shall obtain myself."
"How long can you remain hidden?"
"About a year, Guv'nor."
"I got away with enough money."
"Excellent."
"Disappear while you still can."
"Remain concealed until I send for you."
"If I do send, come immediately."
"Kingsway, did you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"Denbigh House."
"Thank you."
"And remember this."
"You have never visited me."
"You have never spoken to me."
"As far as you are concerned, we have never met."
Tansy nodded eagerly.
"But for your own peace of mind," Lazard continued, "allow me to reassure you."
"You have nothing to fear."
"Do not become nervous."
"Do not lose your head."
"And above all..."
"Do not make the mistake of trying to purchase safety by talking to the authorities."
"There will be no need."
"The danger hanging over you will disappear before this night is over."
"I shall personally visit Denbigh House this evening."
A brief silence followed.
Then the Count spoke his final sentence with chilling certainty.
"Console yourself with the thought..."
"That Valmon Dain will be dead before dawn."
---
Valmon Dain slowly removed the headphones.
His ears ached from the strain.
He smiled.
It was not the smile of a man amused.
The blow he had feared had finally fallen.
If Count Lazard chose to take the offensive, the outlook was grave indeed.
The Count was no ordinary criminal.
He possessed the mind of an aristocrat and the cunning of a master strategist.
His authority over London's underworld was unquestioned.
If he came to Denbigh House, he would probably arrive protected by every conceivable safeguard.
The men who served him belonged to that dangerous breed who regarded murder with no more emotion than extinguishing a smouldering cigarette.
Yet another possibility remained.
Lazard might come alone.
Not because he underestimated his enemy, but because he trusted completely in his own intellect.
If that proved true...
Then the coming night would become something far greater than an assassination.
It would be a duel.
Brain against brain.
With life itself as the prize.
And death waiting patiently to collect the debt from the loser.