The Man Without A Face

by The Man Without a Face (retail) (epub)

  “Fine words don’t help you, sir,” said the sergeant. “I’ve had enough flattery in my life to know where to put it. But how am I to know that you aren’t car bandits?”

  “Do I look like one?” asked Harrison.

  “Well, sir, I saw a film the other day,” replied the sergeant, “English one, too, and there was a car bandit in it, just like you. Evening dress in the morning, hair untidy—” Harrison looked almost self-conscious at this remark, much to Henry’s joy. “And he had killed a policeman, too.”

  “You don’t think I have any designs on you, I hope?” said Harrison, with a smile.

  “Hoots, mon—” started Henry.

  “You don’t get away with that sort of talk here,” said the sergeant, turning a severe look on Henry. “Even if you are Scotch, you’d better talk the King’s English in Hampshire.”

  Harrison laughed.

  “And how do I know it isn’t a stolen car?” asked the policeman.

  “The chauffeur can tell you that, officer,” said Harrison. “We hired him.”

  “And how do I know he isn’t a confederate?” persisted the policeman.

  “I certainly am not,” answered the chauffeur, who had been growing extremely uncomfortable at the turn of events and was wishing himself safely out of a very unsavoury position. “I’ve never seen them before last night and I’ve had my suspicions of them myself, too.”

  “Come, come,” said the sergeant, obviously objecting to competition. “You can’t go making general statements like that, my man. Why were you suspicious?”

  The chauffeur thought for a moment and then said, in a very conciliatory manner, “Same as you, sergeant, running about the country in evening clothes, no hat or coat or anything else.”

  “When I want your suspicions I’ll ask for them,” said the sergeant, crushingly, and with an extraordinary lack of consequence. “I expect it’ll be quite all right, sir,” he continued, turning with a smile to Harrison. “Queer idea some people have but as a policeman I have to do my duty and ask a lot of questions. Still, I think you ought to satisfy me a bit further.”

  “You can’t imagine,” said Harrison, “if I were trying to avoid the police, I should come and call on one, can you?”

  “That’s an old dodge,” said the sergeant. The chauffeur smiled, but unfortunately, this look of victory was noticed at once by the sergeant, who added freezingly: “but I can usually tell when it’s being used by a crook. What else, sir?”

  “I should prefer to tell you alone,” said Harrison.

  “Very wise, sir,” said the policeman, looking at the chauffeur. “Long ears and open mouths are a bad mixture, I always say.”

  They walked a few paces along the road from Henry and the chauffeur.

  “My name’s Clay Harrison,” said Harrison, in a low voice. “I’m supposed to be a private inquiry agent but I seem mainly to be looking for criminals. It isn’t my fault, it has just happened that way. I’m on the track of a really big crook. That’s why I left London so suddenly in these clothes. I couldn’t risk wasting a minute. Ring up the Southampton police, they’ve heard of me, or even better still, ring up Inspector Murray, at Scotland Yard, he’s on the same job at the moment.”

  “That’s all right, sir,” said the policeman, “I haven’t heard of your name but I know what a good man Murray is, and if you were a crook, you’d have to be a good actor to convince me he was a friend of yours. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Well, sergeant, quite a lot of things,” answered Harrison. “First of all, I would like to spend the day with you?”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  “Not quite with you, that is, sergeant, because you must be a busy man, but I want to be by you just for the day—and my Scotch friend as well.”

  “The man with the moustache, sir?”

  “That’s the man. We should like to begin with breakfast—a Hampshire breakfast, sergeant, and then we can discuss our plans.”

  “What about the chauffeur, sir?”

  “Oh, he’d better have some breakfast and then I’ll pay him off.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  They went back to the other two who had not had a word to say to each other during the meantime, and their friendly manner was obviously much to the chagrin of the chauffeur, who must have hoped for handcuffs on Harrison, at the very least. Harrison proposed breakfast, but the chauffeur suggested that his devotion to duty demanded his immediate return. He might have a bite somewhere on the road but martyrs like himself were unable to settle down leisurely to breakfasts like gentlemen in evening dress. Harrison did not argue, but paid him what he asked, with a generous tip in addition, and bade him good-bye.

  This was very grumpily replied to, much to the annoyance of Sergeant Merivale, who turned to the chauffeur, as he got into the car, and said, “If you take my advice, my man, you won’t talk too much in future. If you let your tongue run away with you, you’ll be in trouble before you expect it.”

  At this the car simply swept away in the direction of London, and it was not long before Harrison and Henry were sitting down to the large and appetizing breakfast which the county knows how to provide.

  “Oh, lord, sir,” exclaimed Henry, looking down at his moustache, “I’ve got to eat with this thing on.”

  “Quite,” answered Harrison.

  “Can I take it off, sir?” asked Henry, looking anxiously at his food.

  “Certainly not,” replied Harrison. “Sergeant Merivale would be justified in being really suspicious if he saw you doing that sort of thing.”

  “But sir—” said Henry.

  “Look here, Henry,” answered Harrison, “you wanted to go on wearing the wretched thing and now you’ve got to go on with it.”

  “It’s going to be slightly soiled,” said Henry, viciously, “and I’ll have meals in my room when we get to a hotel.”

  Henry, however, had soon ingeniously contrived to overcome his difficulties and when the sergeant reappeared, the wonderful breakfast was a glory of the past.

  “And what next, sir?” asked the sergeant.

  “You’ve spoken to Southampton?” returned Harrison, looking fixedly at him.

  “Well, sir,” answered the sergeant, apologetically. “Safety first, sir.”

  “No need to apologise,” said Harrison, “I congratulate you on your caution. What did they say?”

  “They said quite a lot, sir,” was the reply. “Enough to make you blush, sir. They said they weren’t surprised to hear you were in the district.”

  “Oh,” said Harrison, dubiously.

  “Something about guaranteeing you at a bank, sir,” continued the sergeant.

  “Great Central?” asked Harrison.

  “Yes, sir,” was the reply.

  “That’s all right, then,” answered Harrison. “And you’re willing to give me a bit more help?”

  “Only too proud to do so, sir,” said Sergeant Merivale.

  “Have you anyone here you could trust to go to the bank for me and bring some money back?”

  “My own boy would do that, sir,” said the sergeant. “He’s a really good boy and I would trust him with anything.”

  “Excellent,” said Harrison, “and would he take some of the money and get us some tickets for Havre for to-night?”

  “Of course he could, sir,” replied the sergeant. “But—”

  “But what?” asked Harrison.

  “You’re not going about in those clothes all day, sir, are you?”

  “That’s where I want your help again, sergeant,” said Harrison. “I want some old clothes, a hat and an overcoat; and I can’t go to Southampton for them. What shall I do?”

  “The boy and me will fit you out all right, sir,” replied the sergeant, with a smile, which showed that he had now found a practical way to be of use individually.

  “I shall have to go to Havre in them,” said Harrison.

  “That won’t worry us, sir,” said the sergeant. “We kn
ow you’ll take good care of them.”

  “You can’t think how grateful I am, Sergeant Merivale,” said Harrison. “You’ve solved a lot of my difficulties. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll write the note and then have a talk with your boy as to what he’s to do. Then I’ll have a smoke and after that the morning will be old enough for me to have a chat with Inspector Murray, if you don’t mind my using your telephone?”

  Sergeant Merivale again expressed his delight, and bustled away to do his part of the business, while Harrison produced a long cigar from his case.

  “Last one, Henry,” he said.

  “That’s a tragedy, sir,” commented Henry, sorrowfully.

  “At all events, when I get my new costume, Henry,” said Harrison, “I shan’t dare to smoke good cigars, so that’s a comfort. Self-denying ordinances till complete respectability reappears. At any rate,” he said, lighting the orphan, “I do not propose to talk to Mr. Murray until this is smoked right to the pleasant end.”

  Matters were soon settled with the sergeant’s son, who proved to be keen and intelligent, and certainly justified his father’s estimate. Harrison smoked serenely, if in a somewhat miserly fashion, while Henry dozed after the sleeplessness of the night.

  A reluctant final pull and Harrison bestirred himself to get to the telephone.

  “What news, sir?” asked Henry on his return.

  “Just what we might have expected,” answered Harrison. “Murray raided the place as quickly as he could, but Miss Williams and Cross had disappeared. He took the names of all the guests, much to their annoyance, he said, although he allowed them to think that he had discovered some suspicious gambling activities on the floor above. He only detained three people.”

  “Let me guess, sir,” said Henry. “Josephs, Skelofski, and Finney.”

  “Quite right, Henry,” answered Harrison, “Murray said he’d have to let Finney go because there was nothing against him. Still, the fright he has had will do him any amount of good. Bamberger might even take him back after this. I don’t think he’ll ever misbehave again. He’s not the type.”

  “And the others, sir?”

  “Murray says they know something about both of them, and the Home Office is very strict about undesirable aliens. So they will have to leave the country with all conceivable speed. I don’t expect it will do them much harm—they’ll be crooks anywhere.”

  “Miss Marston, sir?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Harrison, with elaborate surprise. “She gave Murray rather a shock. Or rather, her surroundings did. The room she was in was built more like a prison cell than anything else. Comfortably furnished, of course, but a place from which it would be well-nigh impossible to escape. The thick bars to the windows we saw. Murray says the door was amazingly solid. And there was a little sliding panel in the door so that the warder, or whatever you like to call him, could keep an eye on the prisoner, or, likewise, whatever you like to call him.”

  “Curious, sir.”

  “And what worried Murray still more, Henry, and made it seem more like a prison, was that there was a row of these cells. All the rooms on that floor were constructed in the same way.”

  “Miss Marston’s lucky to be out of it, sir.”

  “That’s what Murray thinks,” answered Harrison.

  “And what does she say?” asked Henry.

  “She told Murray she would rather not go into details until I could be present, and Murray was quite agreeable.”

  “And the cells, sir?” asked Henry.

  “I’m sorry they missed our two friends, Henry,” said Harrison, taking no notice whatever of the last remark. “I suppose the garden business finally decided them to run for it. Still, we have a few surprises left for them and we simply had to have the photograph.”

  “Oh yes, sir,” said Henry. “Has it been developed?”

  “Murray seemed quite pleased with it,” answered Harrison. “A bit over-exposed, he said, but good enough, and copies of it are being sent all round. He’s going to let me know at Havre directly he finds anything out.”

  The arrival of Sergeant Merivale with some aged, but clean-looking garments was the signal for all business to be put aside and Harrison was accommodated with an assortment of clothing which quite changed his looks. Henry was so impressed that he was almost willing to exchange his moustache, schoolboy fashion, for Harrison’s clothes, and, at half a hint from Harrison, would himself have borrowed similar clothing but the broadest of hints brought no response.

  A day soon slips by in the county of Hampshire, and Harrison revelled in the quiet of it after the excitement of the days just gone, and the anticipations of those to come. He and Henry lazed about the village until luncheon, which was admirably provided by the hospitable sergeant. Thereafter they slept and then walked briskly in the surrounding lanes. The day was pleasant and warm and the countryside at its best. They met very few people, but those they passed greeted them cheerily and Harrison felt that the thought of violent crime was unreal in such surroundings. Henry was not quite so impressed. The country was all right in its place, but it had to be kept strictly there, and why they didn’t run boats to Havre during the day he couldn’t think. Harrison suggested that it was solely to give them a chance of a break like that, and Henry snorted. Unnecessary generosity, was his comment.

  Sergeant Merivale’s son returned with the tickets, having carried out his instructions to the letter, and Harrison’s comments on heredity brought a blush to the sergeant’s face. Another meal and it was time to start for Southampton. Harrison had explained to Henry that it would be best for them to get on board as early as possible. He did not expect anything to happen but they wanted to see, and also they did not want to be seen.

  Very reluctantly Harrison said good-bye to one of the most peaceful spots he had ever found in his wanderings. Sergeant Merivale seemed equally reluctant to part with him and warmly pressed him to return if there was any opportunity. “Do you know, sir,” he said, “I almost wish we might have some serious crime here, sir.”

  “Promotion, Sergeant Merivale?” queried Harrison.

  “Good heavens, no, sir,” was the reply. “I wasn’t thinking of that. No, sir, I mean, if you understand, some serious unofficial crime, sir—something that would bring you down to this part for a stay.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Sergeant,” said Harrison, shaking his hand warmly, “but I hope the crime won’t be necessary. I’ll come back without it, if I possibly can.”

  They boarded an omnibus which took them into the town, and soon found the dockside and the boat in which they were to cross.

  “Time enough to watch things,” said Harrison, as they leaned over the rail. “We don’t start till after eleven.”

  “Nice night and a good crossing, sir,” said Henry, cheerfully.

  “That’s true,” said Harrison, and for a time they watched straggling passengers come on board. Suddenly Harrison left Henry’s side and disappeared for an appreciable period while more and more people arrived.

  “Henry,” he said, quickly, coming back with huge strides, “do you know what day it is?”

  “Friday, sir,” answered Henry, wondering at his master’s new phase.

  “Of course it is, Henry,” said Harrison, “but I’ve only just realised it.”

  “Surely you’re not getting superstitious, sir?” said Henry, with concern.

  “About starting a journey on Friday?” laughed Harrison. “It isn’t that, Henry. But we nearly did the wrong thing. We nearly used our passports.”

  “I don’t understand, sir,” said Henry.

  “I’ve been watching the people coming on and seen some of their tickets,” answered Harrison. “It isn’t done to use passports to-night and besides, we should be safer not to. They are nearly all week-end travellers, and all they have to do is to fill up a form on their tickets.”

  “Is that so, sir?”

  “It is, Henry,” answered Harrison, “and it’s going to explain one or two
things. But, first of all, slip off the boat and buy us two week-end return tickets as quickly as you can.”

  “But we’ve got some,” objected Henry.

  “Those need passports,” said Harrison. “We want to go into France a bit more quietly. Here’s the money. You’ve ample time before the boat starts. First-class, of course.”

  Henry gave a groan at the expense of such a proceeding, and was ready to start arguing, but Harrison’s look crushed any tendency in that direction, and he made his way off the boat.

  The London boat-train now arrived and the usual bustle took place. It was not quite frenzy, but a certain lack of balance among passengers who, although morally certain that the boat would not put off without themselves and their baggage, had such instinctive doubts on the matter that their conduct was unduly affected thereby.

  Henry eventually marched on with the throng, and soon after he had regained Harrison’s side, preparations were being made for casting off. The luggage had been slung below and the gangways were just being moved when a man in definitely artisan clothes ran up to the officials, showed his ticket and came on board.

  “I thought as much,” said Harrison.

  “What’s the matter, sir?” asked Henry.

  “The man who has just come aboard,” answered Harrison, and then he suddenly caught Henry by the arm and pulled him so that he was leaning well over the side of the ship.

  “What on earth?” said Henry, recovering his balance after a few moments.

  “Sorry, Henry,” said Harrison. “The man has just gone past.”

  “Who was it, sir?”

  “A man who would certainly recognise a Scotch photographer.”

  “Good lord, sir, Cross?”

  “Yes, Henry,” replied Harrison, “Mr. Cross is making the same journey as ourselves. He is wearing very ordinary clothes and he is travelling second-class—by week-end ticket, of course.”

  “Lucky you spotted him, sir,” said Henry.

  “That’s the end of your adornment, Henry,” answered Harrison. “A moustache which nearly gives us away must be discarded. Take it off, Henry.”

  Chapter XIX

  Madame Cross