by Sax Rohmer
CHAPTER XXVI
GRIMSDYKE
Not a sound disturbed the silence of the deserted place, save when theslight breeze sighed through the trees of the adjoining coppice, andswayed some invisible shutter which creaked upon its rusty hinges.
An owl hooted, and the detective was on the alert in a moment. It was awell-known signal. Was the owl a feathered one or a human mimic?
No other sound followed, until the breeze came again, whispered in thecoppice, and shook the shutter.
Then the chauffeur's whistle came, faintly, and with something tremulousin its note; for the adventure, though it offered little novelty to theexperience of the Scotland Yard man, was dangerously unique from themechanic's point of view. But where the Right Hon. Walter Belford led itwas impolitic, if not impossible, to decline to follow. Yet, the whistlespoke of a man not over-confident. "Severac Bablon" was a disturbingname!
Sheffield pressed the knob of the torch and stepped into the bare anddirty room beyond.
The beam of the torch swept the four walls, with faded paper peeling instrips from the damp plaster; showed a grate full of rubbish, a batteredpail, and a bare floor littered with debris of all sorts, great cavitiesgaping between many of the planks. A cupboard was searched, and provedto contain a number of empty cans and bottles--nothing else.
Into the next room went the investigator, to meet with no betterfortune. The third was a big kitchen, empty; the fourth a pavedscullery, also empty--with the chauffeur at the door, holding hisspanner in readiness for sudden assault.
"Upstairs!" said Sheffield shortly.
Up the creaking stairs they passed, their footsteps filling the placewith ghostly echoes.
A square landing offered four doors, all closed, to their consideration.
Sheffield paused, and listened.
The owl had hooted again.
He directed the ray of the torch upon the door on the immediate right ofthe stairhead.
"We're short-handed for this!" he muttered; "but it has to be riskednow. Stay where you are and be on the alert. Watch those other doors."He tried the handle.
The door was locked.
To the next one he passed without hesitation. It yielded to his hand,and he flashed the light about a bare room, with half of the ceilingsloping down to the window. In the corner beyond this window a seconddoor was partly concealed by the recess. The inspector stepped acrossthe floor and threw the door open.
Then events moved rapidly.
Someone literally shot into the room behind him, falling with a crashthat shook the place like thunder. _Bang!_ sounded through the house,and a key turned in a lock!
Sheffield spun round like an unwieldy top, and saw the chauffeurstruggling to his feet and rubbing his head vigorously.
The detective made no outcry, nor did he waste energy by trying a doorhe knew to be locked. He stood, keenly alert, and listened.
Footsteps rapidly receded down the stairs.
"Who did it? How did he get behind me?" muttered the dazed chauffeur.
"Out of one of the other rooms! I told you to watch them!"
Inspector Sheffield was angry, but he had not lost his presence of mind.
"We must get out--quick! The window!"
He leapt to the low window, throwing it open.
"Too far to drop! We've got to smash the door! Perhaps they've left thekey in the lock! Set to on the panel with that bit of iron of yours!"
The man began a vigorous assault upon the woodwork. It was old, but verytough, and yielded tardily to the blows of the instrument. Then a bigcrack appeared as the result of a stroke shrewdly planted.
"Stand away!" directed Sheffield; and leaning back upon his left foot,he dashed his right upon the broken panel, shattering it effectually.
At the moment that the chauffeur thrust his hand through the jaggedaperture to seek for the key, _thud! thud! thud!_ came from the lanebelow.
"That's the car!" cried the inspector. "My God! what have they done toMr. Belford?"
The other paused and listened intently.
"It's the grey car," he said. "Why didn't they take the guv'nor's?"
"Open the door!" cried Sheffield impatiently. "Is the key there?"
"Yes," was the reply; "here we are!" And the door was opened.
Sheffield started down the stairs with noisy clatter, and, the chauffeura good second, raced through the rooms below and out into the yard.
"Mr. Belford! Mr. Belford!" he cried.
But no answer came, only a whisper from the coppice, followed by thesqueak of the crazy shutter.
They ran out to where they had left Belford on guard over the grey car;but no sign of him remained, nor evidence of a struggle. The hum of theretreating motor grew faint in the distance.
"Ah!" cried Sheffield, and started running towards Mr. Belford'slimousine on the edge of the coppice. "Quick! don't you see? _He'skidnapped!_ In you go! This just about sees me out at Scotland Yard ifwe don't overtake them!"
"They've gone back the way we've just come!" said the chauffeur, hurlinghimself on board. "I can't make out where they're going--and I can'tmake out why they took the worst car! It's an old crock, hired fromLewes. We can run it down inside five minutes!"
"Thank God for that!" said Sheffield, as, for the second time thatnight, he set out across moonlit Sussex on the front of the big car, inpursuit of the most elusive man who ever had baffled the CriminalInvestigation Department.
Visions of degradation to the ranks from which he so laboriously hadrisen occupied his mind to the exclusion of all else; for to haveallowed the notorious Severac Bablon to kidnap the Home Secretary underhis very eyes was a blunder which he knew full well could not becondoned.
Even the breathless drop into the great bowl on the Downs did not serveto dispel his gloomy dreams. Then:
"There they are! And, as I live, making straight for Womsley!" cried thechauffeur.
Sheffield stood up unsteadily on his insecure perch, and there was themysterious grey car, which now was become a veritable nightmare,mounting the hill in front.
One minute passed, and Sheffield was straining his eyes to catch aglimpse of the occupants. But no one was visible. Two minutes passed,and the inspector began to think that his eyesight was failing, or thata worse thing portended. For, as far as he could make out, only one manoccupied the car--the man who drove her!
"What does it mean?" muttered the detective, clutching at the shoulderof the chauffeur to support himself. "It must be Severac Bablon!But--where's Mr. Belford?"
Three minutes passed, and the brilliant moonlight set at rest all doubtsrespecting the identity of the man who drove the car.
His silvern hair flowed out, gleaming on his shoulders, as he bentforward over the driving-wheel.
It was the Right Hon. Walter Belford!
"What in the name of murder does it mean?" cried Sheffield. "Has he gonemad? Mr. Belford! Mr. Belford! Hoy! ... _Hoy! ... hoy! Mr. Belford!_"
But although he must have heard the cry, Mr. Belford, immovable at thewheel, drove madly ahead!
"What shall I do?" asked the chauffeur in an awed voice.
"Do?" rapped Sheffield savagely. "Pass him and block the road! He'sstark, raving mad!"
So, along that white road, under the placid moon, was enacted thestrangest incident of this entirely bizarre adventure; for Mr. Belford,in the hired motor, was pursued and overtaken by his own car, whichpassed him, forged ahead, turned across the road, and blocked it.
For one moment the Home Secretary, racing down upon them, seemed tocontemplate leaving the path for the grassland, and thus proceeding onhis way; but the chauffeur ran out to meet him, holding up his arms andcrying:
"Stop, sir! _Stop!_"
Mr. Belford stopped the car and fixed his eyes upon the man with a lookof real amazement.
"You?" he said, and turned to Sheffield.
"Who else?" rapped the inspector irritably. "What on earth are youdoing, sir? Where's the quarry--where's Severac Bablon?"
/> "What!" cried the Home Secretary, from the step of the car. "You havelost him?"
"Lost him!" repeated Sheffield ironically. "I never had him!"
"But," said Mr. Belford distinctly, and in his question-answering voice,"did you not return to where I was stationed and inform me that you hadthem all locked in an upper room? Did I not, myself, hear their attemptto break down the door? And did you not report that, their numbers beingconsiderable, you could not, single-handed, hope to arrest them?"
"Go on!" said Sheffield, in a tired voice. "What else did I tell you?"
"You see," resumed the politician triumphantly, "this _impasse_ is dueto no irregularity in my own conduct! You told me that my limousine hadmysteriously been tampered with, and that the only course was for youand Jenkins to remain and endeavour to prevent the prisoners fromescaping, whilst I, in their car, returned to Womsley Old Place for yourmen! Hearing you behind me, I naturally assumed that the prisoners hadoverpowered you and were in pursuit of me!"
"I see!" said Sheffield, removing his hat and scratching his headviciously.
"Finally," said Mr. Belford, with dignity, "you gave me this note foryour principal assistant, Dawson"--and handed an envelope to theinspector.
The latter, with the resignation of despair, accepted it, tore it open,and took out a card. Directing the ray of his pocket-torch upon it,though in the brilliant moonlight no artificial aid really wasnecessary, he read the following aloud:
"Severac Bablon begs to present his compliments to His Majesty's Principal Secretary of State for the Home Department and to thank him for according the privilege of a private interview. Whilst deprecating the subterfuge rendered necessary by the right honourable gentleman's attitude, he feels that it is justified by results, and begs respectfully to repeat his assurance that no one in whom the right honourable gentleman is interested shall be compromised, now or at any future time."
"You see," said the detective wearily, "that wasn't the real InspectorSheffield who spoke to you. I thought you might have known him by thistime, sir! That was Severac Bablon!"