CHAPTER XXIV
Strong in his conviction that the story of Hazel Rath was largely theproduct of an hysterical imagination, Merrington dismissed it from hismind and devoted all his energies to the search for Nepcote. The tasklooked a difficult one, but Merrington did not despair of accomplishingit before the day came round for the adjourned hearing of the chargeagainst the girl. He knew that it was a difficult matter for a wantedman to remain uncaptured in a civilized community for any length of timeif the pursuit was determined enough, and in this instance the militarypolice were assisting the criminal authorities.
Merrington's own plans for Nepcote's capture were based on the beliefthat he had not the means to get away from London unless the Heredithnecklace was still in his possession. As that seemed likely enough,Nepcote's description was circulated among the pawn-brokers andjewellers, with a request that anyone offering the necklace should bedetained until a policeman could be called in. He also had Nepcote'sformer haunts watched in case the young man endeavoured to approach anyof his friends or acquaintances for a loan. Having taken these steps inthe hope of starving Nepcote into surrender if he was not caught in themeantime, Merrington next directed the resources at his command toputting London through a fine-tooth comb, as he expressed it, in theeffort to get hold of his man.
But it was to chance that he owed his first indication of Nepcote'smovements since his disappearance. He was dictating officialcorrespondence in his private room at Scotland Yard three days after hisvisit to Lewes, when a subordinate officer entered to say that a man hadcalled who wished to see somebody in authority. It was Merrington'scustom to interview callers who visited Scotland Yard on mysteriouserrands which they refused to disclose in the outer office. Theinformation he received from such sources more than compensated for theoccasional intrusion of criminals with grudges or bores with publicgrievances.
The man who followed the janitor into the room was neither the one northe other, but a weazened white-faced Londoner, with a shrewd eye andthe false, cringing smile of a small shopkeeper. He explained in thestrident vernacular of the Cockney that his name was Henry Hobbs--"EneryObbs" was his own version of it--and he kept a pawnbroker's shop in theCaledonian Road. It was his intention to have called at Scotland Yardearlier, he explained, but his arrangements had been upset by a domesticevent in his own household.
"They've kep' me runnin' about ever since it happened," he added,bestowing a wink of subtle meaning upon the pretty typist who had beentaking Merrington's correspondence. "The ladies--bless their'earts--always make a fuss over a little one."
"When it is legitimate," Merrington gruffly corrected. "Miss Benson," hesaid, turning to the typist, who sat in a state of suspended animationover the typewriter at the word where he had left off dictating, "youcan leave me for a little while and come back later. Now my man," hewent on, as the door closed behind her, "I've no time to wastediscussing babies. Tell me the object of your visit."
The little man stood his ground with the imperturbable assurance of theCockney.
"We thought of calling it Victory 'Aig. Victory, because our London ladsseem likely to finish off the war in double-quick time, and 'Aig afterour commander, good old Duggie 'Aig, whose name is every bit good enoughfor _my_ baby. What do _you_ think? Don't get your 'air off, guv'nor,"Mr. Hobbs hastily protested, in some alarm at the expression ofMerrington's face, "I'm coming to it fast enough, but my head is so fullof this here kiddy that I hardly know whether I'm standing on my 'ead ormy 'eels. It's like this 'ere: a few days ago there was a young man comeinto my shop to pawn his weskit. I lent him arf-a-crown on it and hegoes away. But, yesterday afternoon he comes back to pawn, a littlepencil-case, on which I lends him a shilling. Now, I shouldn't besurprised if this young man wasn't the young man we was warned to lookout for as likely to offer a pearl necklace."
"What makes you think so?"
"By the description. I didn't notice him much at first, but I did thesecond time, perhaps because I'd just been reading over the 'andbillbefore he come in. He looks a bit the worse for wear since it was drawnup--hadn't been shaved and seemed down on his luck--but I should say itwas the same man, even to the bits of grey on the temples. Bin a bit ofa dandy and a gentleman before he run to seed, I should say."
"What makes you think that?" asked Merrington, who had scant belief inthe theory that gentility has a hallmark of its own.
"Not his white hands--they're nothing to go by. It was his clothes. Iwas a tailor in Windmill Street before I went in for pawnbroking, and I_know_. This chap's suit hadn't been 'acked out in the City or in one ofthose places in Cheapside where they put notices in the window to saythat the foreman cutter is the only man in the street who gets twelvequid a week. They hadn't come from Crouch End, neither. They wasfirst-class West End garments. It's the same with clothes as it is withthoroughbred hosses and women--you can always tell them, no matter howthey've come down in the world. And it's like that with boots too. Thischap's boots hadn't been cleaned for days, but they were _boots_, andnot holes to put your feet into, like most people wear."
"You made no effort to detain him?"
"How could I? He didn't offer the necklace, or say anything aboutjewels, so I had no reason for stopping him. I could see 'e was asnervous as a lady the whole time he was in the shop, so before I gavehim a shilling for his pencil I marked it with a cross as something to'elp the police get on his tracks in case he is the man you're after.When he left I went to my door to see if there was a policeman in sight,but of course there wasn't. I doubt if he'd have got him, though. He wasoff like a shot as soon as he got the shilling--down a side street andthen up another, going towards King's Cross. Here's the pencil-case hepawned. I didn't bring the weskit, but you can 'ave it if it's any goodto you."
Merrington glanced carelessly at the little silver pencil-case, andafter asking the pawnbroker a few questions he permitted him to depart.Then he touched his bell and sent for Detective Caldew.
Half an hour later Caldew emerged from his chief's room in possession ofthe pawnbroker's story, with the addition of as much authoritativecounsel as the mind of Merrington could suggest for its investigation.Caldew did not relish the task of following up the slender clue. He hadnot been impressed by the relation of Mr. Hobbs' supposed recognition ofNepcote, although as a detective he was aware that unlikely statementswere sometimes followed by important results. But the element of luckentered largely into the elucidation of chance testimony. There weresome men in Scotland Yard who could turn a seeming fairy tale into astartling fact, but there were others who failed when the probabilitieswere stronger. Caldew accounted himself one of these unlucky ones.
But luck was with him that day. At least, it seemed so to him thatevening, as he returned to Holborn after a long and trying afternoonspent in the squalid streets and slums of St Pancras and Islington. Thegoddess of Chance, bestowing her favours with true feminine caprice, hadtaken it into her wanton head, at the last moment, to accomplish for himthe seemingly impossible feat of tracing the pawnbroker's markedshilling, through various dirty hands, to the pocket of the man who hadpawned the pencil-case. Whether she would grant him the last favour ofall, by enabling him to prove whether this man and Nepcote wereidentical, was a point Caldew intended to put to the proof that night.
Caldew was in high good humour with himself at such a successful day'swork, and he alighted from the tram with the intention of passing acouple of hours pleasantly by treating himself to a little dinner intown before returning to Islington to complete his investigations. Hewandered along from New Oxford Street to Charing Cross by way of Soho,scanning the restaurant menus as he passed with the indecisive air of apoor man unused to the privilege of paying high rates for bad food instrange surroundings.
The foreign smells and greasy messes of Old Compton Street repelled hisEnglish appetite, and he did not care to mingle with the herds ofsuburban dwellers who were celebrating the fact that they were alive bymaking uncouth merriment over three-and-sixpenny tables d'hotes andcrud
e Burgundy and Chianti in the cheap glitter of Wardour Street. As adisciplined husband and father, Caldew's purse did not permit of hisgoing further West for his refection, so when he reached Charing Crosshe turned his face in the direction of Fleet Street. He had almost madeup his mind in favour of a small English eating-house half-way down theStrand, when he encountered Colwyn.
The private detective was wearing a worn tweed-suit and soft hat, whichhad the effect of making a considerable alteration in his appearance. Hewas about to enter the eating-house, but stopped at the sight of Caldewlooking in the window, and advanced to shake hands with him.
"Thinking of dining here, Caldew?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Caldew. "It seems a quiet place."
"It certainly has that merit," responded Colwyn, glancing into the emptyinterior of the little restaurant. "You had better dine with me if youhave nothing better to do. I should like to have a talk with you."
Caldew expressed a pleased acquiescence. He had not seen the privatedetective since he had taken him a copy of Merrington's notes of hisinterview with Hazel Rath, and he wished to know whether Colwyn had madeany fresh discoveries in the Heredith case.
At their entrance, a waiter reclining against the cash desk sprang intosupple life, and with a smile of prospective gratitude sped ahead up thestaircase, casting backward glances of invitation like a gustatory sirenenticing them to a place of bliss. He led them into a room overlookingthe Thames Embankment, hung up their hats, took the wine card from theframe of the mirror over the mantelpiece, wrote down the order for thedinner, and disappeared downstairs to get the dishes.
"It seems to me that you've been here before," said Caldew.
"I always come here when I have an expedition in hand," was theresponse.
Caldew wondered whether his companion's expedition was connected withthe Heredith mystery, but before he could frame the question the waiterreturned with a bottle of wine, and shortly afterwards the dinnerappeared. It was not until the meal was concluded that Colwyn broachedthe subject which was uppermost in his guest's thoughts by asking him ifhe had met with any success in his search for Nepcote.
"We are still looking for him," was Caldew's guarded reply, as heaccepted a cigar from his companion's case.
"In Islington, for instance?" The light Colwyn held to his own cigarrevealed the smile on his lips.
Caldew was so surprised at this shrewd guess that his match slipped fromhis fingers.
"What makes you think we are looking for Nepcote in Islington?" hedemanded.
"I am not unacquainted with the ingenious methods of Scotland Yard," wasthe reply. "I can see Merrington working it out with a scale map ofLondon to help him. He is convinced that Nepcote is still in Londonwithout a penny in his pockets. Merrington asks himself what Nepcote islikely to do in such circumstances? Borrow from his friends or attemptto cash a cheque? We will guard against that by watching his clubs andhis bank. Raise funds on the necklace--if he has it? Merrington knowshow to stop that by warning the pawn-brokers and jewellers. When he hasdone so he has the satisfaction of feeling that his man is cut off fromsupplies, wandering penniless in stony-hearted London, as helpless as ababe in the wood. Where will he hide? He is a West End man, knowinglittle of London outside of Piccadilly, so the chances are that he willnot get very far, and that his wanderings will end in surrender orstarvation. But Scotland Yard cannot wait for him to surrender, andMerrington, with an imagination stimulated by the necessity of findinghim, decides in favour of Islington--the so-called Merry Islington ofobsequious London chroniclers, though, so far as my personal observationgoes, its inhabitants are merry only when in liquor. Islington iscongested, Islington contains criminals, and Islington is an idealhiding-place. Therefore, says Merrington, let us seek our man there."
"Oh, come, Mr. Colwyn, you don't put me off like that. Somebody musthave told you that I was out there to-day."
"I saw you myself. As a matter of fact, I have been looking for Nepcotein that part of London--in an area between Farringdon Street andEuston."
"Why there in particular? London is a wide field."
"I have endeavoured to narrow it by considering the possibilities. Thesuburbs are unsafe, and so is the West End; the City affords no shelterfor a fugitive. There remain the poorer congested areas, the docks, andthe East End. But that does not help us very much, because there isstill a vast field left. What narrowed it considerably for me is mystrong belief, taking all the circumstances into consideration, thatNepcote has not got very far from where we last saw him. What finallydetermined me to select Islington as a starting point for my search wasthat strange law of human gravitation which impels a fugitive to seek acriminal quarter for shelter. A hunted man seems to develop a keen scentfor those who, like himself, are outside the law. Islington, as you areaware, has a large percentage of criminals in its population. At anyrate, I am looking for Nepcote in Islington."
"Although I could pick flaws in your theory, I am bound to say that youare right," said Caldew. "Nepcote is hiding in Islington. At least, wethink so," he cautiously added.
"Good! How did you find out?"
Caldew gave his companion particulars of the pawnbroker's visit toScotland Yard that morning.
"I have been looking for Mr. Hobbs' marked shilling in the small shopsbetween King's Cross and Upper Street all the afternoon," he said. "Itraced it quite by accident after I had decided to give up the attempt.One of the uniformed men at the _Angel_ happened to tell me, as a joke,about a coffeestall keeper who had gone to him in a fury that morningabout a chance customer, who, in his own words, had diddled him for abob overnight. He showed the policeman a shilling he had taken from theman, and was under the impression that it was a bad one because it wasmarked with a cross. The policeman put the coin in his pocket and gavethe man another one to get rid of him. I obtained the shilling from him,and went to see the coffeestall keeper. His description of the man whopassed it resembled Nepcote, and he added the information that thecustomer, after changing the shilling for a cup of coffee, had asked himwhere he could get a bed. The coffeestall keeper directed him to a cheaplodging-house near the _Angel_. I went to his lodging-house, andascertained that a man answering to the description had slept there lastnight, and on leaving this morning said that he would return there for abed to-night. I have a policeman watching the place, and I am going outthere shortly to see this chap--if he comes back. Do you care to go withme?"
"I'll go with pleasure," said Colwyn, who had listened to this storywith close attention.
"Then we'd better be getting along. But, I say, don't mention this toMerrington if anything goes wrong and I don't pull it off. The old manhas his knife into me over this case, and my life wouldn't be worthliving if Nepcote slipped through our fingers again. I want to try andsurprise him, and let him see that there are other men at Scotland Yardbesides himself."
"I don't think you have much to fear from Merrington," said Colwyn,laughing outright. "He is in a chastened mood at present. But you canrely on my discretion, and I hope you will get your man."
"I believe I shall," returned Caldew in a confident tone. "Shall we makea start?"
Colwyn paid the bill, and they set out through the darkened streets,upon which a light autumn fog was descending. The Kingsway undergroundtramway carried them to the _Angel_, where they got off. Caldew threadedhis way through the unwashed population of that centre, and turned intoa side street where a swarm of draggle-tailed women were chaffering fordecaying greens heaped on costers' stalls in the middle of the road. Heturned again into a narrower street running off this street market, andstopped when he got to the end of it. He nudged his companion, andpointed to a sign of "Good Beds," visible beneath a flare in a doorwayopposite.
"That's the place," he said.
A policeman came up to them, looming out of the fog as suddenly as aspectre, and nodded to Caldew.
"Nothing doing," he briefly announced. "I've watched the place eversince, but he hasn't been in."
"All right,
" said Caldew. "You can leave it to me now. I shan't need youany longer. Good night!"
"Good night, and good night to you, Mr. Colwyn," the policemanresponded, turning with a smile to the private detective. "I didn'trecognize you at first because of the fog. I didn't know you were inthis job."
"And I hope that you won't mention it, now that you do know," interposedCaldew hastily.
"Not me. I'm not one of the talking sort." The policeman nodded again ina friendly fashion, and disappeared down the side street.
The two detectives stood there, watching, screened from passingobservation in the deep doorway of an empty shop. The flare which swungin the doorway opposite permitted them to take stock of everybody whoentered the lodging-house in quest of a bed. By its light they couldeven decipher beneath the large sign of "Good Beds, Eightpence," asmaller sign which added, "Or Two Persons, a Shilling," which, by itscareful wording, seemed to hint that those entranced in Love's youngdream might seek the seclusion of the bowers within unhindered byawkward questions of conventional morality, and, by its triumphantvindication of the time-worn sentiment that love conquers all, tended toreassure democracy that the difference between West End hotels andIslington lodging-houses was one of price only.
But the visitors to the lodging-house that night suggested thraldom toless romantic tyrants than Cupid. Drink, disease and want were themasters of the ill-favoured men who shambled within at intervals,thrusting the price of a bed through a pigeon-hole at the entrance,receiving a dirty ticket in exchange. These transactions, and the facesof the frowzy lodgers were clearly visible to the watchers across theroad, but none of the men resembled Nepcote. Shortly after ten o'clockraindrops began to fall sluggishly through the fog, and, as if that werethe signal for closing, the figure of a man appeared in thelodging-house doorway and proceeded to extinguish the flare.
"We had better go over," Caldew said.
They walked across the oozing road, and he accosted the man in thedoorway.
"You're closing early to-night," he observed.
The man desisted from his occupation to stare at them. He was anill-favoured specimen of an immortal soul, with a bloated face, apendulous stomach, and a week's growth of beard on his dirty chin. Ashort black pipe was thrust upside down in his mouth, and his attireconsisted of a shirt open at the neck, a pair of trousers upheld by novisible support, and a pair of old slippers. Apparently satisfied fromhis prolonged inspection of the two visitors that they were not insearch of lodgings, he replied in a surly tone:
"What the hell's that to do with you? If you let us know when you'recoming we'll keep open all night--I don't think."
Caldew pushed past him without deigning to parley, and opened a dooradjoining the entrance pigeon-hole. A man was seated at the tablewithin, reckoning the night's takings by the light of a candle. It wasstrange to see one so near the grave counting coppers with such avidgreed. His withered old face was long and yellow, and the prominentcheekbones and fallen cheeks gave it a coffinlike shape. His sunkenlittle eyes were almost lost to view beneath bushy overhanging eyebrows,and from his shrunken mouth a single black tusk protruded upward, asthough bent on reaching the tip of a long sharp nose. He started up fromhis accounts in fright as the door was flung open, and thrust a hand ina drawer near him, perhaps in quest of a weapon. Then he recognizedCaldew, and smiled the propitiatory smile of one who had reason to fearthe forces of authority.
"That chap you're after didn't turn up to-night," he mumbled.
"You're closing very early. He may come yet."
"Tain't no use if 'e do. 'E won't get in. All my reg'lars is in, and Iain't going to waste light waiting for a chance eightpence. P'r'apsyou'd like to see the room where he slep' last night?"
Caldew nodded, and the lodging-house keeper, calling in the man they hadseen closing the door, directed him to show the gentlemen the singleroom. The man lit a candle, and took the detectives upstairs to the topof the house. He opened the door of a very small and filthy room, withsloping ceiling and a broken window. A piece of dirty rag which had beenhung across the window flapped noisily as the rain beat through thehole. The man held up the candle to enable the visitors to see theapartment to the greatest advantage.
"We charge tuppence more for this bedroom because it's a single doss,"he said, not without a touch of pride in his tone.
"And well worth the money," remarked Caldew.
"Look here, Mr. ---- Funnysides, I didn't bring you up here to listen tono sarcastical remarks," retorted the man, with the sudden fury of aheavy drinker. "If you've seen enough, you'd better clear out. I want toget to bed."
"You had better behave yourself if you don't want to get into trouble,"counselled Caldew.
"So you're a rozzer, are you? D--d if I didn't think so soon as Iclapped eyes on you. But you've got nothing against me, so I don't carea snap of my fingers for you. You'd better hurry up."
Caldew took no further notice of him, but joined Colwyn in examining theroom. They found nothing giving any indication of its last tenant. Theonly articles in the room were a bed, a broken chair, and a beam of woodshoved diagonally against one of the walls, which threatened to fall inon the first windy night and bury the wretched bed and its occupant.After a brief search they turned away and went downstairs. The door wasimmediately slammed behind them, and the turning of the lock and therattling of a chain told them that the place was closed for the night.
Pulling up his coat collar in an effort to shield himself from thepersistence of the rain, Caldew expressed his disappointment at thefailure of the night's expedition in a bitter jibe at his bad luck. Atfirst he thought he would wait a little longer on the watch, then hechanged his mind as he glanced at the unpromising night, and decidedthat it wasn't worth while. He lived in Edgeware Road, so he shook handswith Colwyn and set out for the Underground at King's Cross.
Colwyn returned to the _Angel_ to look for a taxi-cab. The fog waslifting, and crowds were emerging from the cinemas and a music-hall withthe fatigued look of people who have paid in vain to be entertained.Outside the music-hall some taxi-cabs were waiting for the more opulentpatrons of refined vaudeville who had been drawn within by the rarepromise of an intellectual baboon, reputed to have the brains of astatesman, which shared the honours of "the top of the bill" with twocharming sisters from a West End show. The drivers of the taxi-cabs saidthey were engaged, and uncivilly refused to drive the detective toLudgate Circus.
A Bermondsey omnibus came plunging through the fog, scattering the filthof the road on the hurrying pleasure-goers, and stopped at the corner toadd to its grievous load of damp humanity. Those already in the darkenedinterior sat stiffly motionless, like corpses in a mortuary wagon, asthe new-comers scrambled in, scattering mud and water over them, feelingfor the overhead straps. Colwyn did not attempt to enter. Even aSmithfield tram-car would be better than the interior of a 'bus on a wetnight.
An ancient four-wheeler went past, crawling dejectedly homeward. Thedriver checked his gaunt horse at the sight of Colwyn standing on thekerb-stone, and raised an interrogative whip. He added a vocal appealfor hire based on the incredible assumption that a man must live, whichhe proclaimed with a whip elevated to the sodden heavens, calling on aGod, invisible in the fog, to bear witness that he hadn't turned a wheelthat night. The phrasing of the appeal helped Colwyn to recall that itwas the same cabman who had accosted Philip Heredith and himself on thenight they had motored to the moat-house.
He engaged the cab and entered the dark interior. The whip which hadbeen uplifted in pious aspiration fell in benedictory thanks on the bareribs of the horse. The equipage jolted over the _Angel_ crossing intothe squalid precincts of St. John's Street. In a short time theoverpowering smell of slaughtered beasts announced the proximity ofSmithfield. The cab turned down Charterhouse Street towards FarringdonMarket, and a little later pulled up under the archway at LudgateCircus.
"I leaves it to you, sir," said the cabman, in a husky whisper. Hisexpectant palm closed rigidly on the silver coins, and
his whip fell onthe lean sides of his horse with a crack like a pistol shot as hewheeled round, leaving the detective standing in the road.
The fog had almost cleared away, but the unlighted streets were plungedin deep gloom, through which groups of late wayfarers passed dimly andmelted vaguely, like ghosts in the darkness of eternity. As Colwyn wasabout to enter the corridor leading to his chambers, a man brushed pasthim in the doorway. There was something about the figure which struckthe detective as familiar, and he walked quickly after him. By the lightof the departing cab he saw his face. It was Nepcote.
The Hand in the Dark Page 24