by Frank Froest
‘By James, I’ll do Gwennie yet!’ he exclaimed. ‘This hole was not built to fit me, but no doubt you’ll be able to wriggle through, Mr Hallett. You’re slimmer than I. Feel you’d like to have a walk about now? Here, let me give you a hand.’
Supported by the chief-inspector, Hallett took two or three uncertain steps. His strength was rapidly returning to him, and by the time they had been twice round the cellar, he declared himself for the undertaking. Menzies lifted him bodily, and he wriggled upward through the shoot. It was a tight squeeze, and he sat gasping and exhausted on the pavement.
‘What next?’ he asked.
‘There should be a constable at the corner on the right. Get him, and break into the house, if you can’t do it any other way. Tell him to come and speak to me if he won’t take instructions from you.’
The policeman proved amenable, and within ten minutes Menzies had the pleasure of hearing the bolts of his prison withdrawn; and be heaved a sigh of relief as he emerged into comparatively open air.
‘That’s better,’ he declared. He turned sharply to the constable. ‘Have you seen anyone leave the house since I came in?’
‘There was a lady and gentleman, about twenty minutes or half an hour ago, sir. I could have stopped ’em, but I didn’t know whether you might want me. I had no instructions. The gentleman was carrying a bag, and the lady asked me where they were likely to find a taxi-cab.’
‘Did you direct them?’
‘I told them the Town Hall was almost the nearest rank.’
‘Hurry down to that rank,’ said Menzies, ‘and find out if they took a cab. Get the number and hurry back, bringing a cab with you. Come on, Hallett. We’ll make sure that all the birds have flown before we have that talk. And a wash wouldn’t be amiss for either of us,’ he added, surveying the other’s coal-blackened face.
‘You’ve burnt yourself,’ said Jimmie.
‘That?’ commented Menzies. ‘Oh, that’s nothing—only Gwennie’s trade-mark. She’s a regular little spit-fire, isn’t she?’
A room-to-room search of the house satisfied Menzies that it was empty, save for themselves. He postponed a more detailed search until Congreve should arrive, and led the way to the room in which Gwennie Lyne had received him. He dropped into a chair and looked Hallett up and down.
‘If it hadn’t been my duty to get you out of this hole,’ he said, ‘I’d have felt inclined to let your friends do as they liked with you. You’re a little too inclined to go off on your own hook for my taste.’
Hallett flushed a little. He remembered that but for the detective he would probably have been still in the cellar, and he had given no word of thanks. He tried to overlook the reproof in Menzies’ tone.
‘I’ll own I blundered, if that will satisfy you.’ He held out his hand. ‘If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have still been sweating my soul out down below. I take it all back. You’re a good man, Menzies.’
‘The girl played you up, did she? You’re not the first who’s been made a fool of by a woman, lad.’
Hallett’s teeth gritted together. Menzies seemed to have the faculty of invariably rubbing him up the wrong way.
‘Can’t you leave that end alone?’ he said coldly. ‘You may be right or wrong, but you know my opinion. Miss Greye-Stratton isn’t a criminal. Your judgment’s warped.’
Menzies smiled, and made a gesture as of one indulging a child’s whim.
‘All right, my son. Have it your own way. I know’—he cocked one leg over the other—‘if I’d been lured into this shanty by the lady, and bundled down to keep company with the coals, what I should think. I’m not blaming you for jumping to help a lady in distress, but if you’d gone to the Yard with that note, instead of playing knight-errant, it would have been the sensible thing.’
‘That note was forged. I’ll swear she had no hand in it.’
Weir Menzies was whistling a tune softly to himself. He stopped in the middle of a bar.
‘My dear young friend, for a man who’s knocked about the world you’re the most verdant sprig I’ve run across for a long time.’
‘How did you know I was here?’ demanded Jimmie.
‘You left the fragments of the note in your room, and we put them together. That’s all. Suppose you let me know what happened? We’ll want your statement, anyway.’
Jimmie Hallett felt his unshaven chin absently.
‘It’s no good explaining to you why I fell into this trap. You wouldn’t understand, and you can call me all the names you like, if it relieves you at all. You’ve got to believe that I felt I had to do something when I got back to the hotel and found the note. That was how I came out here. I guess I led any of your men who were shadowing me a little dance. I hopped all over the old village.’
‘If you went to any trouble to avoid my men,’ said Menzies, drily, ‘it was waste of time. There was no one following you. If there had been, you wouldn’t have thrown them off. That doesn’t matter, though. Go on.’
‘Well,’ said Jimmie, ‘there isn’t much more to tell you. A nice, gentle, old lady—she whom you call Gwennie, I suppose—opened the door to me. I was on the look-out for tricks, but she pretty well threw me off my guard when she denied that she knew Miss Olney; although when I mentioned Miss Greye-Stratton’s name she was as nice as pie, and asked me right in—into this very room.
‘She asked me to sit down, and went away, as I supposed, to fetch Miss Greye-Stratton. She was back in two or three minutes, and she pitched me a little tale—I suppose while things were being got good and ready for me. She told me that she was an old friend of Miss Greye-Stratton—’
‘Didn’t that strike you as curious, seeing she hadn’t recognised the name of Olney?’ asked Menzies.
‘It didn’t occur to me—then,’ admitted Hallett. ‘I never gave it a thought. As I was saying, she declared that she was an old friend, and that the girl had sought her advice in her difficulties. You can laugh, but I gulped it all down. Then there came a tap at the door. “Peggy is ready to see you,” said she, and we got up. I held the door open for her, and passed through close behind. The passage isn’t well-lighted, as you may have noticed, and as I half-turned to close the door after me, someone dropped a bag over my head and shoulders.
‘I did my best, but I didn’t stand a dog’s chance. If I’d had my arms free, I might have done something, but that smothering bag prevented anything like an effective struggle. I had a revolver, but I couldn’t get at it. There were three of them—Gwennie and two men—and I was dragged back into this room and rough-handled.
‘At last the two men managed to get hold of my wrists, and held me while Gwennie drew the sack off. Then I was lashed and gagged as you found me.
‘“Sorry to put you to this inconvenience, Mr Hallett,” said Gwennie; “but we just had to make sure of you.” I glared at her. Of course I couldn’t answer. Lying as I was, I couldn’t see the faces of the two men; they seemed to be purposely keeping out of my line of sight, but one of them struck in:
‘“Think yourself lucky that we haven’t put you right out.”
‘“All right,” thinks I to myself. “I know that voice.” It was that of the man who let me in at Linstone Terrace Gardens.
‘“You keep quiet,” said Gwennie. She seemed to be boss of the show. “Now just listen to me, Mr Hallett. You’ve been joked into a business that is no concern of yours, and we’re not the sort of people to allow our plans to be interfered with. It’s up to us to keep your mouth shut about what you’ve seen or know, but you won’t come to any harm unless our hands are forced. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with some discomfort for some hours, though, until we can make arrangements.”
‘They lifted me up and carried me down that cellar, and anything harder than the coal they laid me on I’ve never known. There was a clock I could hear striking somewhere, so I was able to keep track of time. At about half-past ten last night Gwennie came down and loosened the gag, and gave me something to eat and drin
k. She didn’t forget to put it on again afterwards, though. After that I was left alone until I heard your voice above the trap door—though I never thought then that she’d diddle you as she has done.’
‘I’ve not finished yet, Mr Hallett,’ said Menzies. ‘We’re going to play this game out. It’s one thing gained to know that Gwennie Lyne’s in it. Hallo, there’s a cab! That must be my constable back. Ah, and there’s Congreve and a couple more men. It doesn’t look as if we’d have stayed long in that cellar, even if there hadn’t been the coal chute. I’ll have to decide what’s to be done.’
CHAPTER XIII
THE only man who appeared at all hurried or excited was the constable. He had gained not only the number of the cab in which Gwennie and her companion had driven away, but the name of the driver and the location of his garage. He was visibly proud of his success, though perhaps a little disappointed that Menzies should accept it as a matter of course. Still, there was the thrill, not often encountered in street duty, of feeling that he was at work side by side with one of the best-known Scotland Yard detectives. It was none the less felt, although he had little idea of what was happening or what had happened.
His palpable excitement was in contrast to the imperturbable attitudes of the detectives, to whom the routine was familiar. They waited while Menzies swiftly scribbled a message to headquarters.
A definite stage had been reached in the investigation. The motive and identity of the murderer of the old man were still in doubt, but no longer was there any necessity for seeking a trail. The law holds every person innocent until proved guilty, but common sense has at times to reverse the rule. No experienced police-officer of any nationality would hesitate for a moment in forming an opinion, even had the facts against Gwennie Lyne been much slighter than they were. Her mere reputation as an organiser of criminal coups was enough.
It might be difficult to bring home any proof of complicity in the murder, but there was now a legitimate reason for holding her—once she was caught—for being concerned in the abduction of Hallett, or even as a returned deportee. A suspect under lock and key has few opportunities of clouding a line of investigation. Menzies felt the elation of one who had viewed his quarry, and could now run it down in the open. Once she and her friends were under arrest, it would be easier to piece together the links connecting them with the murder.
He finished his dispatch, and folded and blotted it methodically.
‘Take that along to the station, and have it wired off to the Yard at once,’ he ordered.
So he sent a warning that within an hour or less would reach each one of the six hundred or so detectives in London, to say nothing of the watchers at the ports.
It is a much more difficult thing than most people imagine for a known individual to hide even among forty millions. Every single man of those six hundred, going about his ordinary business, would shortly carry a photograph of Gwennie, and be alert for any hint of her whereabouts. It was to that relentless, unceasing vigilance that Menzies pinned his faith, rather than to the wearying task of following her up through the cabman who had driven her away. The cabman would only be able to say where he had put her down, and she could have a dozen means of covering her tracks.
‘Did you get that search warrant, Congreve? Right you are. You’d better start running over the house. I’ll go to get some clothes and come back. What do you think about things, Mr Hallett? Would you like to come along with me?’
Jimmie’s lips were firmly pressed.
‘What are you doing about the girl?’ he said. ‘She may be in danger. Isn’t there something I can do?’
‘You can’t do anything but keep cool,’ said Menzies. ‘It’s no good getting flustered. That young lady’s a lot more capable of taking care of herself than you seem to think. We’re getting on as fast as we can. Something might turn up in searching the house that will give us a fresh start, seeing that Gwennie was hustled out of it in such a hurry.’
Even if Jimmie had been still resolved to do something on his own initiative, he recognised that he was helpless. There was nothing on which he could act by himself. He had no organisation to back him, and no means of following up the girl unless he stood in with the detectives. He nodded in token of his acceptance of Menzies’ invitation and the latter led him to the taxi-cab outside.
They whirled away to Magersfontein Road, where Hallett gladly availed himself of an offer of hospitality that would enable him to eradicate most of the traces of the night’s adventure. The chief-inspector was waiting for him by the time he had finished a bath and a shave, and made an energetic attack on his clothes with a brush. He also had changed. Flushed and cheerful, he looked more the churchwarden than ever in contrast with his late appearance.
‘No need to hurry. Congreve won’t have finished yet awhile, and a bit of breakfast won’t do any harm. Let me introduce Mrs Menzies. And here’s Bruin. Shake hands with Mr Hallett, Bruin.’ He fondled the dog for a moment. ‘He’s a rascal! Tried to spoil my garden yesterday, didn’t you, you wicked old sinner? Come and have a look at my patch, Mr Hallett. It’s not big, but I do fairly well with my roses.’
Menzies was quite capable of making himself a bore on the subject of gardening, and it was with something of relief that Hallett at last received the signal for breakfast. It was difficult for him to understand how easily the detective could detach himself from the case to the consideration of humdrum domestic matters. He hinted as much. The other man grinned.
‘Wait till you’re married, my boy! Seriously, though, I never talk of business when I’m at home, and never think of it if I can help it. I do all my worrying on duty. Some men let a case get on their nerves, and then—’ He paused to dissect a sole. ‘It never does any good. You’ve got to regard your work quite apart from your personal feeling. Every C.I.D. man has sent some awfully charming people to gaol—people they liked, too. There was one of our men on a murder case who found that the murderer was a friend of his, a man in a good position. It broke him all up.’
‘Who?’ queried Jimmie. ‘The murderer?’
‘No; the officer. Of course, he might have put the circumstances before the chief, and left the actual arrest to someone else; but he preferred to go on with it himself. The man was hanged.’
‘What happened to the detective?’
‘That’s the point I’m getting at. He couldn’t forget it, and every case he handled after that he let his sympathies go out to the crook he was following. He wanted to be judge and jury, and make sure a man was guilty before arresting him. He suffered from temperament. It doesn’t do. Pass the toast, please.’
‘I suppose I’m dull,’ said Jimmie, apologetically. ‘You wouldn’t hold a man if you weren’t sure he was guilty?’
Menzies set down his cup.
‘You bet I would, though,’ he said, emphatically. ‘There’s some people who ought to be arrested on general principles—Gwennie, for instance. All a police officer’s got to do—I don’t care whether he’s a constable or a superintendent—is to have a reasonable suspicion to act upon. Of course, if he’s dead sure, so much the better. But it’s for the court to make certain.’ He folded his serviette. ‘You’re a newspaper man. If you get a scoop and put it before your paper, you may be annoyed if they’re foolish enough not to run it, but you’re satisfied you’ve done your part. The same with me. I get my evidence and my prisoner, and I’m done. Personally it doesn’t matter to me what happens. If a fat-headed jury acquits a prisoner I’m confident is guilty, I may be scornful of their understanding—that’s all.’
‘That means there’s human nature, even in a detective.’
‘Of course,’ laughed Menzies. ‘I think we’ll make a move.’
The steady search of Mrs Lyne’s house was still progressing when they returned to Ludford Road. A number of fresh detectives had arrived to help Congreve, and they found Heldon Foyle stretched lazily out in one of the horsehair chairs in the sitting-room. He rose and shook hands with Jimmie.
‘It’s against me, sir, and that’s a fact,’ agreed the other, ruefully.
He made no attempt at excuse.
‘It can’t be helped, old man,’ said Foyle, more sympathetically, now that he had delivered his official reproof. ‘I’d have fallen into it just the same way. Come upstairs. Excuse us a minute, Mr Hallett.’
He led the way upstairs to a locked room, and tapped softly at the door. It was opened very slowly, just wide enough to admit him.
‘Burnt paper,’ he explained, laconically. ‘Come in slowly. Don’t make a draught.’
The chief-inspector obeyed. There were a couple of men within the bedroom, which reeked of oil from a cheap stove on the washstand. The window was tightly closed, and the chimney was blocked up. In the grate were the blackened fragments of a mass of burnt papers. The big bed, too, was a chaos of burnt papers, which had broken under the efforts of the two men to move them intact.
The superintendent and the chief-inspector halted by the door. With infinite delicacy one of the constables lifted a sheet of burnt paper from the grate, and placed it in a kitchen sieve. This he held over a steaming kettle on the oil stove, while his companion, in his hand a transparent sheet of paper on which gum had been thinly spread, waited anxiously. The burnt paper softened rapidly, and the gummed sheet was dropped upon it.
‘That’s the last, sir,’ commented one of the operators. ‘The rest is too broken up to be handled.’
He indicated the grate with a gesture.