by Mark Hodder
Sexton Blake was struggling to get his man in a grip that could not be shaken, and the others were unable to help him on the sloping roof.
“The train’s stopping!” Spearing shouted.
It was right enough. Evidently someone had heard the struggle on the roof—possibly the revolver-shot—and had pulled the alarm-bell.
Sexton Blake redoubled his efforts, hoping to be able to get the Kaiser back into the compartment before the train actually stopped; but the latter struggled like a madman, and twice nearly flung himself and Sexton Blake from the roof. With a jerk the train stopped, and excited voices shouted out, directing the guards to the scene of the struggle; but still the Kaiser fought on, not reckoning what the consequences might be.
A guard came clambering on to the roof, another following him.
“Here, what does this mean?” The first shouted.
At last, realising his position, the Kaiser stopped struggling, and a guard seized him and dragged him down to the line. Sexton Blake and Spearing followed, and were instantly surrounded by excited passengers; but Tinker managed to slip down in the darkness and clamber into an empty compartment. Not that he minded being captured with his master, but he felt that his freedom might mean much later on.
“What does this mean?” one of the guards demanded, addressing Sexton Blake.
“This man was our prisoner,” the detective answered promptly, “and he tried to escape.”
The guard eyed Sexton Blake up and down suspiciously.
“I reckon you’ll have to prove that,” he said. “Will some of you gentlemen help me to take these men to the van, and stop there until we reach the next station?”
Very crestfallen, his face working with emotion, the Kaiser allowed himself to be bundled into the guard’s van with the others. A good dozen of the passengers—all young men—followed, so that there was no chance of escape.
“This is terrible!” the Kaiser whispered, in a shaking voice.
“It is your own fault,” Sexton Blake answered bitterly. “You will now learn what the inside of a police cell is like.”
A mile further on the train pulled up at a station where it was not marked to stop, and a few words to the stationmaster explained the state of affairs. Five minutes later the train moved on, engine-driver and stoker working hard to make up the time they had lost.
The Kaiser, Sexton Blake, and Spearing were being marched under strong escort to the police station of Atborough.
This did not particularly worry Sexton Blake. On the morrow he knew that Spearing would be able to clear up matters without revealing the Kaiser’s identity.
Little did he know the developments matters were to take, or he would not have been so easy in his mind.
THE NINTH CHAPTER
Bad News—Tinker Knows Something—What Next?
AT THE POLICE-STATION no time was wasted, and the three men were formally charged before the inspector. The Kaiser boldly gave his name as Smith, and related how the others had attacked him, evidently meaning to rob him, and to prevent this he had escaped from the compartment and clambered onto the roof. They had followed him, that was all.
“What is your name, my man?” the inspector demanded haughtily, addressing Spearing.
“William Spearing!” that worthy snapped.
“Occupation?” the inspector asked mechanically.
“Detective, Scotland Yard!” the famous official growled.
The inspector dropped his pen and stared; then he laughed.
“I suppose you’ll be telling me next that this man”—he indicated the Kaiser—“was your prisoner?”
“Should if I liked talking to fools!” Spearing snapped, his temper getting the better of him.
The inspector in charge kept perfectly cool. He was sure that this man was an impostor, and was only too glad to make him commit himself. It would be all the hotter for him when he went before the magistrate on the morrow.
“You have your warrant?” he suggested cunningly.
Spearing started, and ran his fingers savagely through his bristling hair.
“No,” he admitted lamely. And the inspector turned to Sexton Blake.
“You?” he said.
“Sexton Blake, sometimes called a detective.”
“What, another!” The inspector threw up his hands in mock awe. “You can, of course, prove that?”
“Certainly!” Sexton Blake answered. “Mr. Hardy, the mayor, will do that.”
The inspector looked doubtful, and lost some of his bullying manner. Perhaps, after all, these men were genuine, and should that prove to be the case things might be very awkward.
“Very well,” he said shortly, “if you wish it I will send for Mr. Hardy in the morning.”
Without further commitment, the three men were marched away to separate cells. This did not worry Sexton Blake, as he was so tired that he would be glad to sleep even in a cell, and Spearing was almost pleased at having a chance of making the officious inspector look cheap the next morning. Only the Kaiser, his shoulders very square, looked savagely at the policeman who conducted him to the cell where he was to spend the night.
Early the next morning Sexton Blake requested his gaoler to send for Mr. Hardy, the mayor, but it was not until nearly eleven that he arrived at the police-station. He was a little, fussy man, whom Sexton Blake had once helped out of a trifling difficulty.
“Why, Mr. Blake!” he cried, seizing both the detective’s hands. “What are you in here for?”
“You had better ask the inspector,” Sexton Blake answered, nodding at the man, who was standing rather sheepishly by the door. “I told him who I was, and that Mr. Spearing and myself were merely endeavouring to prevent a prisoner, an important one, escaping.”
“But he was brought here, too—the prisoner?” the mayor asked eagerly.
“Yes,” Sexton Blake admitted.
“Ah, then not so much harm is done, after all!” the mayor said, in tones of evident relief. “On behalf of the authorities, I apologise for the mistake that has been made. Your prisoner is safe, and—”
“But he isn’t,” the inspector put in, in a shaking voice.
A dead silence fell over the men in the cell; then Sexton Blake darted forward, and gripped the inspector by the arm.
“What do you mean?” he cried, shaking the man backwards and forwards.
The inspector wriggled free, and made a frantic effort to look dignified.
“Why—why, an hour ago a Mr. Leiberbaum came here”—the inspector licked his lips as if they had gone very dry—“and offered to go bail for Mr. Smith, saying that he had known him well in Germany.”
“And you let him go?” Sexton Blake cried.
“What else could I do?” the inspector asked angrily, recovering his nerve. “Mr. Leiberbaum is one of our oldest and richest inhabitants.”
“A naturalised Englishman?”
“Why, I don’t know,” the inspector admitted. And again there was a silence. It was Mr. Hardy, the mayor, who spoke first.
“He could really do nothing else, Mr. Blake,” he said apologetically. “This Leiberbaum is a substantial house-holder and therefore a fit and proper bail.”
Sexton Blake seemed to rouse himself from a reverie, and his thin lips were set hard.
“May I go now?” he asked shortly. “Mr. Spearing, too, of course?”
“Certainly, sir,” the inspector said eagerly, positively anxious to see the last of his prisoners. “I can only say again, sir, that I am sorry that—”
“And where does this Leiberbaum live?” Sexton Blake interrupted sharply.
“The Oaks, Merivale Road, sir,” the inspector answered.
Without another word, the mayor, trotting excitedly after him, Sexton Blake stepped from the cell into the office, and a few seconds later Spearing, looking very angry indeed, joined him.
“Hear of this!” he snapped at the inspector. “Have you at Yard and teach you your business!”
How much
more Spearing would have poured out it is hard to say, but he had no chance to say more, Sexton Blake gripping him by the arm and leading him from the police-station. A cab was passing, and he hailed it, and bundled the surprised official in.
“The Oaks, Merivale Road!” he ordered.
The cab drove away, and Spearing turned in amazement to his companion.
“What meaning of this?” he demanded.
Sexton Blake related what had happened, and Spearing’s face fell as he learnt of the Kaiser’s escape.
“What doing now?” he jerked.
“I am going to bluff this Leiberbaum,” Sexton Blake answered.
Through the town the cab drove, and turned into a road which was evidently occupied by people of means. The houses were large, standing in their own grounds, and most of them boasted stables. The Oaks, before which the cab stopped, was perhaps the biggest and most imposing-looking of them all.
Sexton Blake and Spearing stepped out, and as they did so a boy, who had been lounging on the other side of the road, strolled up. His clothes were muddy, but not particularly old, and, though his face was grimed over, Sexton Blake had no difficulty in recognising his young assistant.
“Spare a copper, guv’nor!” the boy whined.
Sexton Blake made a pretence of feeling in his pockets, and that gave Tinker time to speak.
“Hung about outside the police-station, sir,” he whispered; “saw a big, fat man—didn’t look like English—go in. When he came out the Kaiser was with him. I followed them here.”
“Good lad!” his master answered, in a low tone. “Go round to the back; make sure that he does not leave that way.”
Tinker darted off, and Sexton Blake moved towards the gate. There he stopped thoughtfully.
“You had better wait here, my friend,” he said, “in case they are bold enough to try and get him away openly.”
“Right!” Spearing grunted. And his fingers jingled the handcuffs in his pocket. He was not likely to make a mistake again.
Quite in the manner of a casual visitor, Sexton Blake strolled up the well-kept drive, even stopping once or twice to admire the roses that bloomed in profusion on either side of it. But not once did he really remove his eyes from the windows of the large house. He expected to see people watching, but if they were doing so they managed to hide themselves very successfully. He knocked boldly at the door, and a maidservant answered it.
“Mr. Leiberbaum at home is?” Sexton Blake asked, with a strong German accent.
“I think so, sir,” the girl answered. “What name shall I say?”
“Colonel von Harmann,” Sexton Blake told her, speaking very distinctly so that no mistake should be made.
The girl departed, leaving the detective standing in the hall, but she quickly returned.
“You are to come in, sir,” she announced.
Down the broad hall she led the way, and flung open the door on the left.
“Colonel one Hyman!” she announced, remembering the name as nearly as she could. And Sexton Blake walked quietly in.
A tall, very fat German, aged about sixty, rose eagerly as the detective entered, but as he caught sight of his visitor his heavy jaw dropped.
“There some mistake is,” he said, in a guttural tone. “I was a friend expecting.”
“I am afraid you will expect him a long time, Herr Leiberbaum!” Sexton Blake remarked, suddenly flinging open the door to make certain the servant was not listening outside.
“And for why?” the German asked, his great round face curiously pasty and flabby-looking.
“Because he is a prisoner onboard one of our battleships,” the detective informed him. “You see, the colonel came to see the manoeuvres, and what more could he want than to be actually aboard one of the battleships?”
Herr Leiberbaum sank heavily into a chair, and his fat, white fingers beat nervously on the desk before him.
“But for why have you come here?” he asked slowly. “And who are you?”
“I am Sexton Blake,” the detective answered quietly.
“The man who—” The German broke off abruptly, and added, in a shaking voice: “Of you I have heard.”
“And I am here,” Sexton Blake continued, taking a chair, “to assure myself that his Majesty suffered no harm last night.”
The German’s chair went back sharply, the legs grating on the polished floor, and he glanced sharply over his shoulder at a closed door.
“What do you mean?” he growled.
The lids had been lowered languidly over the detective’s eyes, now they were raised, showing how keen and searching the grey eyes were.
“Don’t fool!” he said shortly. “It was you who bailed the man Smith out, the man whom you knew to be the Kaiser—my prisoner. You were followed here, and entered with him.”
A curious look of dignity had come into Herr Leiberbaum’s manner, and the colour was creeping back to his flabby cheeks.
“So,” he admitted calmly.
“And where is he now?” Sexton Blake snapped out the words, hoping to bustle the man into an admission, but for once he was not successful.
The fat German shook his head slowly, and there was a grin on his lips.
“As a detective, it is that you are good, perhaps,” he answered, “but as a diplomatist—nein.”
Sexton Blake thought rapidly, turning over in his mind, and quickly came to a decision.
“Listen to me, Herr Leiberbaum!” he said earnestly.
“My ears are at your service—so,” the German answered placidly.
“I know that it is you who have helped the Kaiser,” he continued sternly, “meaning to help him to get back to his own country. Well, suppose you succeed?”
The German shrugged his shoulders. He evidently did not intend to commit himself.
“Do you think that that will end this matter?” Sexton Blake went on. “No; I tell you it will make it worse. Then there will be no treating first hand with the Kaiser, and there will be only one answer to his movements—war.”
“Germany has an army!” Herr Leiberbaum sneered.
“Great Britain has a navy!” Sexton Blake rejoined. “Your country is endeavouring to make hers as powerful, but at present she has not succeeded. A great army is no use unless you can land it.”
Herr Leiberbaum rose impatiently, and paced up and down the room. He stopped before Sexton Blake, and there was a fighting look in his eyes.
“It is that I have admitted what I have done,” he said firmly. “I am a German, even if to England I have come, and the Kaiser is my ruler. He has been here, and I am proud to make owning of it. What can you do? You can search this place—to find him gone.”
Sexton Blake looked keenly into the German’s face, knowing that he lied, but it told him nothing.
“What can you do?” the German continued. “You can have me arrested—so. And with what would you charge me? You could not the accusation make that I had saved the Kaiser, for that would mean war, and your country is no readier for that than mine.”
Sexton Blake rose and took up his hat.
“I admire your pluck,” he said.
“I am a German—the Kaiser is my ruler,” Herr Leiberbaum answered quietly.
Without further words, the detective left the house, admitting inwardly that he had entirely failed to bluff the stolid German. But of one thing he was certain, and that was that the Kaiser was still in the house. But how to get him out? Herr Leiberbaum had spoken the truth when he had told Sexton Blake that he dared not act openly, but, on the other hand, the detective had not the slightest intention of being beaten. What could he do?
Outside he found Spearing pacing up and down like a sentry.
“What news?” the worthy official jerked eagerly.
“The Kaiser is there right enough,” Sexton Blake answered shortly.
“Good!” Spearing started towards the house, his fingers on the handcuffs in his pocket, but Sexton Blake gripped him by the arm and held him
back.
“No, not that!” he said sternly. “We have got to get him away, but there must be no publicity.”
THE TENTH CHAPTER
The Kaiser Leaves—The Carriage Accident—The Cab that was Not Empty.
HERR LEIBERBAUM STROLLED down the drive before his house, a fat cigar between his teeth, a perfectly placid look on his heavy-featured face. Apparently, he had not a care in the world, and, as he stopped and examined his roses, blowing a little cigar-smoke over the ones that showed signs of blight, there was nothing about him to suggest that his mind was in the least perturbed. He was just the prosperous merchant taking an interest in his garden during his spare time.
In this manner Herr Leiberbaum strolled down to the front gate, and stood leaning with his elbows on the top of it. It was early evening, dusk was just commencing to fall, and in this aristocratic part people were mostly dining. Anyway, the broad road was empty save for a tradesman’s cart that stood right at the further end.
A smile of satisfaction broke through the German’s stolid expression, and he turned and walked briskly up the drive. As he reached the front door it opened, and the Kaiser’s white face looked out.
“All is well?” he asked eagerly.
“Your Majesty need have no fear,” Herr Leiberbaum answered reassuringly.
“Fear?” The Kaiser’s eyebrows contracted angrily, and his fingers fidgeted with his bare upper lip. “It is not that I have fear, but I am thinking of what may happen if I do not return to Germany soon.”
“There is nothing to stop you now, sire!” Herr Leiberbaum said hopefully. “It is plain that they believe that you have already left here, and by now the boats for the Continent are being watched. But you have nothing to do but go north. I have given you the names of a dozen men who will help you in coast towns, for they are all loyal Germans, even if they do live in England. Your yacht is cruising in the north, so what will be easier than to send a code message to her. She will come to any part of the coast, and a boat will fetch you off.