"Pray spare me these exercises, Solar," said Bancroft Pons. "I was shocked by your wire —deeply shocked. 'Which heir has disappeared?' How can you possibly know of this matter? We kept the most rigid security."
"Only by the intervention of Providence, my dear fellow," said Pons. "But you have not answered my question."
"Let us say only the successor to one of the Balkan thrones. His disappearance here in London on the eve of the Balkan Conferences is painfully embarrassing to His Majesty's Government."
"To say nothing of the danger the boy now faces," said Pons.
Bancroft Pons sniffed. "I dislike this fencing, Solar. Do you know where he is?"
"Alas, no. Until this evening he was hidden in Fox & Company's warehouse in Stepney. This evening, however, he was abducted, but not by agents associated with the assassins who ran down his uncle and aunt. ..."
"Cousins," said Bancroft Pons. "The boy was attending a private school, south of London. We have known for some time that anarchistic elements interested in fomenting trouble in the Balkans may have had designs on the boy. His cousins, who were in England to watch over him, removed the boy at the first sign of danger, and arranged to embark at the East India Docks in the hope of taking him to safety on the Continent. It was a convenient fiction for the boy to think of his cousins as uncle and aunt. But you will have surmised as much. Who had the prince?"
"My boys. You have heard me refer to the Praed Street Irregulars."
"What! You anticipated the crime on Commercial Road East?"
"You flatter me. I knew nothing of it until tonight, when Alfred Peake came to announce that the boy had been taken."
"Taken?"
"He was not murdered, which was the goal of his enemies. He struggled with his abductors, which he would not have done if they were friends. So he was seized by some agent independent of the throne and also of his would-be assassins. This was found on the scene."
Pons handed his brother the packet of shag.
Bancroft examined it, held it to his nostrils. "Baggett's," he said.
"Very probably."
"An acrid smell lingers here."
"Gunpowder?"
"I think not. It reminds me of opium."
Pons bounded to his feet and took the shag from Bancroft to hold it again to his own nostrils. He smelled the paper as well.
"No, it is in the tobacco," said Bancroft. "That abominable habit you have of smoking the vile stuff has blunted your olfactory nerve. But enough of this—I grant that a foreigner would not be likely to use Baggett's, but the matter is in any case academic. Who could have the boy? Not Baron Kroll?"
"The Baron is out of the country," said Pons. "Besides, Kroll's interest would have been political; the influence of his government could have been strengthened if the prince were in Germany. No, it is not Kroll."
"Your familiarity in these circles transcends mine," said Bancroft. "Who then?"
"An adventurer not above bargaining with both sides to obtain the highest price for the boy's life," said Pons.
"Name him."
"Very probably Israel Sarpedon. I thought him in Cairo, but evidently he has returned. He is a man utterly devoid of scruples, absolutely without human emotions save only of greed, a man who would sell his mother's life as readily as he would a parcel of shares."
"Where can he be found?"
"He has an establishment in Soho, but the boy will certainly not be there."
"How can you be sure of this, Solar?"
"I cannot," replied Pons. "It is only the strongest probability that Sarpedon has the boy. It is the kind of venture which most appeals to him. If he has him, the boy will be in the hands of Sarpedon's agents,
waiting upon his instructions. He will hardly have been taken far from the scene of his abduction, since the police are nosing about the vicinity of the accident. Moreover, expediency demands that the boy be kept concealed under guard until the hue and cry has died down. Then Sarpedon will make his move."
"He will offer the boy to the highest bidder," said Bancroft with suppressed fury.
"Precisely."
"We can take him."
"Futile," said Pons.
"He and his place can be watched."
"Equally futile. He will never personally show his hand, but will only issue orders through subordinates. There is nothing to be gained by alerting Sarpedon. Do not alarm him, but let us just spread the word that I am looking for him. Your people will know where to drop this information, Bancroft."
"Other than that?"
"Wait on word from me. There are certain matters in which the Foreign Office is without peer — but this is not one of them."
"You have forty-eight hours," said Bancroft, and bade us goodnight.
"Such ultimata," observed Pons as he sprang to his feet, "come with remarkable ease to anyone associated with His Majesty's Government."
He vanished into his chamber, from which came the sounds of rummaging about, together with the strains of London street songs hummed somewhat brokenly. Then a suspicious silence followed; this lengthened into a quarter of an hour.
When at last Pons reappeared, he was transformed. If I had not seen him enter his room, I would certainly not have recognized the stooped, ill-kempt beggar who shuffled into the room asking in a whining voice for a halfpenny.
"Good God! Pons —surely you're not going out in that garb!"
"I would scarcely have taken the trouble to assume it purely for your entertainment, Parker," he said crisply. "I'm bound for Stepney and Limehouse. Admirable as the boys are, they may be a little beyond their depth in this matter, considering the brief time we have in which to act. There is a certain Chinese doctor in Limehouse who has a small army of men and women in his employ—his activities, I should add, are even more nefarious than those of Israel Sarpedon —and in this he may be useful to ire, as I may someday be to him."
"It surprises me that you have never mentioned Sarpedon to me in all these years," I said.
"He is quite possibly the second most dangerous man in London," said Pons imperturbably.
"Then Baron Kroll is the most dangerous."
Pons smiled. "Yes —but I should add that the Chinese gentleman on whom I am calling tonight takes precedence. He is very probably the most dangerous man in England, if not in Europe. As for Sarpedon," he went on, blunting my astonishment, "I have never had occasion to mention him. For the past eight years he has been in the Middle East, employing his unique talents to the best advantage of his exchequer. He came close to crossing my path once before your time, but we have never actually met. I look forward to that pleasure."
Once more the outer door opened and closed; again there was a rattling on the stairs; and for the second time that night, Alfred Peake burst into our quarters, only to recoil at sight of Pons, his mouth agape. He shot a hasty, alarmed glance at me.
"Where's Mr. Pons, sir?" he asked.
"Alfred, my lad," said Pons. "Have I aged so much since your last visit?"
"Lord love us, Mr. Pons!" cried Alfred, his eyes wide with amazement. "Is it really you?" Then admiration filled his face. "Fooled me, you did, Mr. Pons."
"And the boys?"
"They're out, sir —them who could get out. We'll all be out in the morning."
"Tell me, Alfred," pressed Pons, "do you know a boy of the same age, and the same general size and appearance as Angel?"
Alfred thought deeply. "P'raps David Benjamin would do," he said presently. "He's small for his age."
"Capital!" said Pons crisply. "I'm coming with you, Alfred. Goodnight, Parker."
Alfred ducked back out of the room, Pons at his heels, leaving me smarting a little at Pons's failure to invite me to accompany him, even though I knew that I could never have carried off a disguise as skillfully as he, and might very well only have been in his way.
I was awakened next morning before dawn by Pons's hand on my shoulder.
"Ssst!" he whispered. "We are about to have a visitor."
I slipped out of bed and followed Pons quietly into the living- room, where he stood waiting in the dark.
There was a rustling at the door.
Pons stepped forward and threw it open, revealing a tall, saturnine man of middle age in the act of lighting a cheroot. He favoured Pons with a wintry smile as he slipped into the room with the languid grace of a tiger.
"Mr. Solar Pons, I believe. I understand you were looking for me."
"Mr. Israel Sarpedon," said Pons. "Switch on the light, Parker."
"Though what prevented you from coming to my place in Soho puzzles me," Sarpedon continued, planting himself insolently at one end of the mantel, to face Pons at the other, as I got to the switch.
"Because you don't have in Soho what I want."
"That is?"
"Come, Mr. Sarpedon, let us not fence. I want the boy."
"I don't traffic in children, Mr. Pons."
"Not just any children, Mr. Sarpedon. This one, I think you know, has a certain monetary value over and above that of just any child."
"And supposing I had this boy to whom you refer, do you think you could possibly come up with an offer greater than any other I might obtain?"
"Certainly," said Pons.
"Indeed!"
"Your freedom for his safe delivery. Otherwise, you may find yourself uncomfortably detained for a considerable time. His Majesty's Government looks with singular displeasure on being embarrassed."
"Bluff, Mr. Pons, pure bluff! I could hardly be less disturbed." Calmly, he tossed his cheroot into the fireplace and favoured Pons with a long, calculating stare, with eyes that were as cold as ice. "Tell me, Mr. Pons," he continued, "does it never occur to you that this meddling of yours is likely sometime to lead to consequences of the gravest kind?"
"So is one's most trivial act —like getting out of bed in the morning, or indulging one's curiosity in Praed Street or in Soho —or even, perhaps, in Stepney."
"Let me suggest, Mr. Pons, that interference in affairs which do not concern you may someday be fatal."
"You add zest to my humble existence," said Pons.
"There is something unhealthy about meddlers and meddling," said Sarpedon.
"More so than with those anti-social people who make meddling necessary?" asked Pons.
Sarpedon sniffed disdainfully and strode over to the door. "Good- morning, Mr. Solar Pons. You have been warned."
With this, he went out.
I shot a glance at Pons. He seemed unruffled; indeed, he showed a certain satisfaction. "A dangerous man," I said. "Did you expect him, Pons?"
"I was confident that if word reached him that I was looking for him, his vanity couldn't resist the challenge."
"A daring fellow."
"Not at all. He knows he is on sure ground. When he charged me with bluffing, he knew very well what he was talking about."
"Oh, come Pons!"
"The sinuosities of international diplomacy are sometimes beyond mere mortals like us, but the conclusions to which diplomats come are often only too clearly foreseen. That is why it is essential that the utmost haste be resorted to if Sarpedon is to be thwarted."
He had stepped over to the window as he spoke, and stood peering down intently into the street, now filling with the rising light of dawn. "Ah, he came in his own car. And Alfred has managed to hop on to the back. Capital! Now we shall have to wait to see whether he drives home or whether he stops at the nearest telephone kiosk. I fancy it will be the latter; if so, Alfred may be fortunate enough to discover the number he calls. He ll want to make sure I haven't discovered the place where he is keeping the boy."
He turned away from the windows, rubbing his hands together, his eyes merry. "He may not yet have made his contacts. If not, we have time. If he has, events will move rapidly to culminate to his satisfaction. We shall do our best to prevent it. Now we can only wait."
But waiting sorely tried Solar Pons. When the game was afoot, he was dreadfully restless, and nothing engaged his attention for very long. He spent a little while over a problem in chemistry, and he sawed away at his violin, producing sounds which seemed to me uncommonly execrable —though he called it music, and he spurned the breakfast which Mrs. Johnson brought up and implored him to eat.
When at last the telephone rang, he leapt upon it.
But hope faded to annoyance as he listened.
"That was Alfred," he said, turning away from the instrument. "Sarpedon called a number in Limehouse, but Alfred failed to hear it properly. At least, we can infer that the boy is being held in private quarters somewhere —unless Sarpedon has an outpost at a telephone, which I should think not likely. The fewer men engaged in a venture of this kind the better. He cannot have more than two; there may be only one guarding the boy." He shook his head. "Time speeds past, Parker. We may be too late."
And with this he resumed his restless pacing of our quarters.
I was just passing the telephone close upon the hour of noon when it rang a second time. Even so, Pons reached it before I could take it up. But I was close enough to him to hear the strange, spine- tingling sibilance of the voice that greeted Pons and spoke but a single sentence to him, though I could not hear the words. The effect on Pons, however, was magical; suppressed excitement replaced his tenseness, and he was obviously eager to be off.
"The Doctor has not failed me," he said, putting down the telephone. "The boy is in a house in Salmon Lane. Let me just call Alfred and alert the boys. Then you and I will change our appearance a trifle and go to Limehouse —leaving by the back entrance, since Sarpedon will almost certainly have No. 7B watched — unless you would prefer to spend a more secure sedentary hour or two at home."
"You know better, Pons." I said indignantly. "If I were to stay here, who would be there to look after you?"
It was just past midday when Pons and I, dressed in nondescript clothes, set out by cab for the vicinity of the house in Salmon Lane. Pons sat in silence, chafing visibly at every delay caused by congestion in Oxford Street and High Holborn. In Cheapside we were detained five minutes by a traffic jam, while Pons fairly danced in impotent rage. But at last we turned into White Horse Road and left the cab not far down Salmon Lane to walk along the street, which seemed uncommonly crowded with urchins of all ages.
I saw, too, that there were unusually many foreigners present in the area — Orientals of some kind, some Chinese manifestly, but others who seemed to be Burmese or Malay in origin. I plucked nervously at Pons's sleeve, but he shook me off impatiently.
But I had no time to speak, for suddenly the entire street erupted into activity. Cries of "Fire!" and "Stop, Thief!" went up. Boys, Orientals, and the regular habitues of the street began to run and mill about. A column of smoke ballooned up from the doorway of a house just a short distance away. Within seconds, Pons and I were rudely jostled and pushed against an adjacent railing, while the crowd of shouting and screaming boys and Orientals pressed all around us.
And did I dream that—just before police whistles began to blow —a tall, stooped Chinese, an ageless old man wearing a skullcap and smoked glasses, drifted past and whispered in a sibilant voice, "Return to Praed Street, Mr. Pons!"? It could hardly have been a hallucination, for Pons gripped my arm hard and at once turned about, starting back the way we had come.
We were hemmed in, however —first by the men and boys running past, then by a crowd of curious people coming into the street from buildings on both sides, finally by a phalanx of policemen —but eventually we made our way back down White Horse Road to Commercial Road, and there, after trying in vain to hail a cab, Pons finally crossed to the Stepney Station of the Midland Railway, where we caught a train for a somewhat roundabout journey back to our quarters, which we reached at last in late afternoon.
Alfred Peake had preceded us. He jumped up as we entered, a little uncertain, but quite sure that he recognized us despite our altered appearance —which had not deceived Pons's Chinese friend.
"He's sleep
ing, Mr. Pons," he said.
"Capital, Alfred, capital!" cried Pons. "All went well?"
"The moment the smoke bomb went off and they came running out, we went in the back. We had everything ready. David switched clothes with Angel and stayed there. Angel came with us. No danger to David, is there, Mr. Pons?"
"I fancy not."
"All them Chinese —or whatever they were —helped. You got friends, Mr. Pons. They kept those men from coming back —and a lot more."
Pons smiled wryly. "Now then, Alfred —you shall have your reward." He took a handful of pound-notes from the drawer where he carelessly kept coins, and gave them to Alfred. "Distribute them among the Irregulars, with my gratitude, my lad. Without you, I shouldn't have had the pleasure of this little excursion."
When Alfred had gone, Pons said, "Let us get into more presentable clothing, Parker. I daresay it won't be long before we
hear from my estimable brother." He cocked his head to one side. "Is that not Mrs. Johnson's step on the stair?"
"No one could mistake her tread," I said.
Mrs. Johnson knocked gently.
"Come in, come in, Mrs. Johnson," cried Pons.
Our devoted but long-suffering landlady opened the door just enough to stick her head in. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Pons, but a gentleman who said he was your brother telephoned and said you was to do nothing about that matter of the boy until he got here at six o'clock. And will you be wanting supper?"
Pons shot me a triumphant glance. "Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. Yes, supper when you're ready to serve it. And plenty of hot coffee."
At six o'clock promptly, Bancroft Pons walked into our quarters. His face was clouded.
"I fear I bring you bad tidings, Solar," he said.
"Mr. Sarpedon has got through to the Balkan Embassy concerned about the Crown Prince?"
Bancroft grimaced. "You anticipate me. The Embassy wishes us to do nothing."
"Confident that they have bidden more for the boy's life than his would-be assassins. A pity."
"Is it not? But we are helpless in the face of diplomatic pressure."
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