‘That was quite sensible,’ nodded Brant, glancing at his companions.
‘Of course it was sensible,’ retorted the man. ‘Sense is a quality I happen to possess—and to which any number of you folk owe your liberty! When I was fit again, I came out of the cupboard—’
‘And made the girl scream,’ nodded Brant again.
‘Yes—I gave her the scare of her life!’
‘But you weren’t in the room when I entered it!’ exclaimed Brant suddenly.
The man grunted scornfully.
‘A lot of infants you are!’ he said. ‘Didn’t I pop back into the cupboard pretty quick when I heard you coming in? You might have been the police! How did I know, in that instant? Anyway, I came out again soon after, and here I am, and if you stop to ask any more questions, it’s in gaol you’ll be tonight!’
‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ agreed Brant. ‘We oughn’t to have—but still, you know—’
‘Oh, stop that jibbering,’ cried the man, ‘and stand by.’ He turned back to the inner room, threw the door wide, and called, ‘Say, you there! Come in!’
‘What’s that for?’ inquired Henry, feeling for his revolver.
‘That’s right—and you, too, Brant. Cover them,’ said the man. ‘We’ve got to get ’em in here—they mustn’t see our little staircase to the tunnel.’
‘Oh, it’s through there, is it?’ exclaimed Brant delightedly. ‘Thank God for that.’
‘Sh! Here they come!’
Conversation broke off, as Fordyce walked into the room, followed by Rose. The girl was white, but composed. Fordyce himself, whatever he may have felt inside him, betrayed no concern. His attitude suggested that, for the time being, the control of matters was out of his hands—Brant’s and Henry’s revolvers made that clear—and that the Cause of Respectability he stood for would not be assisted by the gloom. His eyes were watchful, however, and as he glanced round the room he noted the revolvers and the attitudes and position of those who held them.
‘Don’t be alarmed, Miss Ackroyd,’ he said lightly. ‘It’s only a bad dream. You’ll wake up in a jiffy.’ She smiled faintly, as he continued: ‘The happy family’s increased, I see.’
‘Ours has,’ grinned Brant.
‘By Jove!’ exclaimed Fordyce suddenly, catching his meaning. ‘Where’s Ben?’
‘He’s safe enough,’ answered Henry, walking towards a case around which was some useful rope.
‘Where is he?’ repeated Fordyce.
‘Minding that cupboard for us, from the inside.’
‘I say, Miss Brant,’ frowned Fordyce; ‘are you a party to this?’
‘What can I do?’ she asked.
Fordyce looked at her, held her eyes for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Yes, that’s true,’ he said. ‘What can you do? It’s a pretty stiff current, isn’t it?—once one drifts into it.’ He turned back to the others. ‘I’ll promise you this,’ he remarked. ‘If there’s been any dirty work, somebody’ll swing for it.’
Henry approached with his rope.
‘What’s that for?’ inquired the man.
‘Best truss ’em up,’ answered Henry. ‘You do the girl, Uncle Brant—’
‘That’s not necessary,’ interposed the man, testily. ‘You people seem to love wasting time. We can lock them in here.’
‘No; safety first’s my motto,’ exclaimed Brant, backing Henry up, and taking a portion of the rope from him. ‘I’ll look after the girl. Tie ’em in chairs; there’s another chair in that inner room.’ He darted in, and reappeared with a second chair. ‘Here, Smith, you do the man, and Henry can stand by with his revolver, for accidents.’
‘Well, perhaps you’re right,’ conceded the man, taking the rope from Henry. ‘It will keep them out of mischief for a few minutes—and our business won’t take longer.’
Fordyce and Rose were forced into the chairs, and the business of tying them up proceeded rapidly.
‘You are a charming crew,’ murmured Fordyce. ‘It’s a pleasure to have met you!’
‘But, unfortunately, we can’t stop,’ smiled the man. ‘We’re going to take a little walk—and as there ought to be someone to mind the house, we’re leaving you here to do it.’
‘I see,’ nodded Fordyce. ‘So many thieves about, eh?’
Henry approached Fordyce, and examined the rope.
‘Can’t say that looks like much of a knot,’ he commented.
‘I’ve not finished yet, you fool!’ snapped the man.
‘No. All the same, there’s no harm if I help you.’
A minute later, both captives were securely fixed. The man ran to the door to the inner room, cried, ‘Everything all right now? Good—then we’ll vanish!’ and invited the others in.
For an instant Brant hesitated, but Nora ended his hesitation by pushing past him and entering the inner room. Then he followed her, shoving Henry in with him.
But the man did not enter. The moment they were through, he banged the door on them, and swiftly locked it.
‘Well done, Ackroyd! Well done!’ cried Fordyce.
‘Father!’ gasped Rose.
‘Thank God!’ breathed the man, and his voice assumed a softer tone. ‘Rose, they haven’t hurt you, have they?’
‘No, no!’ replied Rose, her eyes shining with relief, as a banging started up on the other side of the door. ‘Father, you were wonderful!’
‘Yes, sir, you’re a marvel!’ corroborated Fordyce.
‘I thought I should never get them out,’ said Ackroyd, but his words were almost drowned by the angry cries from the next room. ‘Quiet there!’ he shouted, and then turned back to Fordyce, to free him from his knots.
‘Best bit of bluff I’ve ever seen, Mr Ackroyd,’ remarked Fordyce, ‘but we’ll hand out the bouquets later. There—I think I can manage the rest, if you’ll run and free your daughter now.’
‘Yes, yes,’ cried Ackroyd. ‘I’ll get her loose—the damned rascals!’
But Rose shook her head, as he ran towards her.
‘No, no, father—Ben first!’ she gasped. ‘The poor fellow must be suffocating—they said he was in that cupboard. Get Ben out—and then, the police!’
Ackroyd turned, and made for the cupboard. With fumbling fingers—for the strain of the last few minutes had been terrific, and he was now weak from the reaction—he turned the key, while the banging and the angry cries of the trapped trio in the adjoining room grew louder and louder.
‘My God!’ cried Fordyce suddenly.
For, as the cupboard door opened, a huge form sprang out, and Ackroyd crumpled beneath its weight. The huge form gripped Ackroyd in a gorilla-like clasp, and began to swing him round.
‘Hold him, sir, hold him!’ shouted Fordyce, struggling frantically to free his feet. ‘I’m with you in a second!’
But the huge form was too swift and too strong. In a flash, Ackroyd was swung round and hurled into the cupboard, the cupboard door was slammed and re-locked, and Fordyce found himself looking into the barrel of a revolver held by a fierce and desperate man.
The man had a crooked shoulder—a real one, not a false one. Of greater interest to Fordyce, however, was the fact that, compared with this man, all the other figures in this nightmare appeared mere amateurs at their game. The eyes that glared at him above the revolver had red murder in them.
21
Smith
‘One movement,’ said the man, in a hissing whisper, ‘and you’re dead! And so’s she! Get back into that chair!’
It was clear that the man meant his words, and that he was in a highly excited state that would stop at nothing. But for an instant, even in his extremity, Fordyce hesitated to obey the brutal command.
‘Do you hear me?’ cried the man fiercely. ‘Or is it to be a couple of bullets—right now?’
‘Damn you,’ muttered Fordyce, as he obeyed.
‘And damn you,’ retorted the man.
Rose could not speak. She felt suffocated by disappointment and new fear. Keepin
g his eye on Fordyce, and covering him all the while, the man made his way quickly to the door of the adjoining room, shouting to the angry inmates as he went.
‘Stow that row!’ he roared. ‘Can’t you keep quiet for two seconds?’
The voices ceased, but they burst forth again as the door was unlocked, and the prisoners swept back into the room.
‘What the—’ began Brant.
Even above the renewed babel, the man made his voice heard, and quelled the tide again.
‘You durned bone-heads!’ he shouted. ‘Do what I say, or I’ll wash my hands of the whole bunch of you. Don’t stand there like sick sheep, but tie that fellow up again while I keep him covered.’
Cowed by his hectoring tone, Brant glanced furtively at Henry. Henry nodded.
‘All right, all right,’ muttered Brant. ‘Don’t get so huffy.’ He hastened towards Fordyce, grumbling and mumbling as he went. ‘It’s all very well to shout, but if you’d been through what we’ve been through—’
‘Oh, I’ve not been through anything, haven’t I?’ retorted the man, with a jeering laugh. ‘Now then—you too!’ he cried to Henry, who was following Brant more slowly. ‘Get him fixed good and proper. That’s not the sort of fellow we can have running about loose.’
‘You’re right there,’ said Brant, as he began to tie Fordyce up again. ‘But, I say—where’s the other one?’
‘What? My double, Ackroyd?’ He spoke scornfully. ‘So you’re growing wise at last, are you? You poor simpletons—infants-in-arms! I’ve settled with him.’ He jerked his head towards the cupboard. ‘He’s in there.’
Nora shot a quick glance at him.
‘You’ve not—killed him?’
‘Maybe,’ replied the man callously. ‘The damned police spy!’
Rose gave a sob. ‘Mr Smith!’ she choked.
‘Ah—there’s someone can vouch for me,’ cried Smith. ‘The daughter of my precious double. Well, if I have killed him, it mightn’t be the first.’
The brutality of his words struck Fordyce like a blow. He could not see Rose from where he sat, but he could guess the agony on her face.
‘Your father’s safe, Miss Ackroyd,’ he exclaimed quickly. ‘I can vouch for that. The fellow’s only bluffing.’
‘Hey—what’s that?’ shouted Smith, rounding on him angrily.
Fordyce looked at him, white with indignation. ‘My God, Smith,’ he muttered. ‘You are a cur!’
Smith tried to make Fordyce drop his eyes, but could not. The devil rose in him.
‘Bluffing, am I?’ he menaced. ‘Well, you’re wrong! I don’t talk—but this does.’
He thrust his revolver in Fordyce’s face, but Brant interposed warningly:
‘Steady, steady, Smith. Those things make a row. We don’t want a noise.’
Smith hesitated, then lowered the pistol.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said with a nod. ‘I’ve got something else in my pocket that will be quieter.’
As he took out the knuckle-duster, Rose gave a little shriek. Fordyce, on the other hand, looked at Smith with unflinching scorn. Possibly Smith only meant to gain the satisfaction of seeing fear dawn on his opponent’s face; disappointed in this, his rage rose higher, and he lifted his hand to strike …
‘Stop that, or I’ll shoot!’
The words came swiftly and clearly. Smith’s unerring instinct recognised the quality of the tone, and he guessed that something unpleasant was pointing towards the back of his head.
‘Nora!’ warned Brant.
‘I mean it,’ repeated Nora. ‘I don’t stand for murder, Smith.’
‘Be careful, be careful!’ exclaimed Brant.
‘Be quiet, Uncle! He’s the one who’s got to be careful. Put that back, Smith—or it’ll be the last time you’ll ever use it.’
Smith’s hand had remained suspended. At first he had listened to the sharp voice of the girl behind him with a savage scowl, but gradually a new emotion dawned, and the scowl dissolved. When he turned round slowly, to meet the eyes of his challenger, he was almost smiling.
‘So, you don’t stand for murder, then, eh?’ said Smith.
‘No,’ returned Nora.
‘But you’d shoot me?’
‘I wouldn’t call that murder!’
Smith regarded her with a smile that grew and took on a new quality. He was not in the least afraid, but he was intensely interested. This was quite a new experience for him.
‘By God,’ he said admiringly. ‘You’ve got some spirit! A bit more than your uncle, eh?’ Brant looked sulky. ‘Say, you and I would make a fine team, we would.’
‘I’ve no doubt you’d like the chance,’ she retorted scornfully.
Smith laughed—a leering, ugly laugh. ‘Carry on,’ he said, over his shoulder, to the others, and then continued to address Nora. ‘I’ll tell you this, my beauty,’ he said. ‘If you shoot me, it won’t save your guy there, because I’m the only hope of this little party. If there’s an accident to me, your friends will soon let him know it, eh?’
‘That’s right,’ nodded Brant. ‘Don’t you be a little fool, Nora.’
‘Say,’ smiled Smith, ‘what’ll you give me, my girl, if I treat him pretty?’
‘Oh, anything you like,’ answered Nora scornfully.
He took an impulsive step towards her, but stopped.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’ He dropped the knuckle-duster back into his pocket, and swung round. ‘Got him fixed?’
‘Can’t budge,’ reported Brant.
‘Good. Very well then. Now, for the getaway.’ Brant began to move towards the inner room, but Smith put his hands on his shoulders abruptly, and turned him round. ‘Out in the passage, you fool! And down into the basement.’
‘Oh,’ muttered Brant.
‘And hurry, there,’ barked Smith. ‘We’ve not got ten minutes before that goods ferry train is due to start.’
Brant hurried out into the passage.
‘Ah, we’re being led right this time, eh?’ he exclaimed nervously.
‘Of course we are,’ answered Henry, with a glance at Smith. ‘Don’t you know the real goods when you meet it, Brant?’
‘Oh, I’m the real goods, all right,’ Smith assured him.
‘You bet you are,’ said Henry.
‘Come on, come on,’ cried Brant, turning. ‘I’m not going down alone. I don’t trust anybody, that’s a fact. Here, Smith, suppose you shove along first—and you stick close behind, Henry.’
‘Just as you like,’ laughed Smith, as though he were humouring children. ‘It’s all the same to me.’
They trooped out—Smith first, Brant next, and then Henry. Nora, on the point of following, paused and turned towards Fordyce.
‘Thanks for saving my life, Miss Brant,’ said Fordyce quietly. ‘He meant business that time.’
Nora hesitated, then came a step towards him.
‘You saved mine,’ she answered in a low voice.
‘Well, then, that makes us quits, doesn’t it? I—I do hope I’ve saved it to some purpose.’ He frowned. ‘It’s a poor sort of safety you’re going to now, you know.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I’ll tell you something I think. I think you’re worthy of a better.’
The footsteps descending the staircase grew fainter.
‘The safety of prison walls, for instance?’ suggested Nora bitterly.
‘Well,’ responded Fordyce, ‘even that would be preferable, I dare say—if it were the only alternative.’
‘It is the only alternative.’
‘Don’t be too sure,’ he retorted cryptically. ‘It’s a rum world—it never lets you know what it’s got up its sleeve. There might be—quite another sort of safety waiting for you. Hang on!’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, staring at him.
Fordyce listened. ‘I say, Miss Brant—your friends don’t seem to have missed you just yet—what about cutting me loose?’
‘
Yes, yes—I will!’ she cried softly. ‘Oh, if only I had a knife!’ She looked round quickly. ‘I know—my file!’
But while she was rummaging in her bag, a hasty step was heard ascending the stairs, and she closed her bag hastily. Murmuring, ‘I’ll come back later,’ she dived into the inner chamber.
‘Nora!’ called Smith’s voice. ‘Hey! Aren’t you coming!’
As Smith appeared on the landing, Nora reappeared from the next room.
‘What’s the matter? What happened?’ demanded Smith.
‘Happened? Nothing,’ replied Nora, raising her eyebrows coolly. ‘I left my bag in the next room, that’s all, and had to fetch it.’
‘Oh, that was it, was it?’ answered Smith, not attempting to disguise the fact that he did not believe her. ‘Well, you’ve got your bag—so now come on!’
He entered the room, and stood by the door while Nora slipped out of it. And he remained standing there for several seconds afterwards, studying Fordyce.
‘You think you’ve done with me, my beauty?’ he observed, as he took the key out of the door. ‘Well, you haven’t. You’ll hear from me again.’ His eyes roamed round the room, and rested on the empty cases. ‘Say,’ he remarked maliciously. ‘How this place would burn!’
Saying which he laughed, went out, closed the door, and locked it.
22
Through the Window
They listened to his descending footsteps growing fainter and fainter. Suddenly, Fordyce smiled. It was the kind of a smile Mark Tapley might have given in similar circumstances.
‘Sweet little fellow, isn’t he?’ he observed pleasantly.
‘He meant to kill you,’ answered Rose’s terrified voice. ‘He’d stop at nothing.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ responded Fordyce, determined at all costs to be cheerful. If his spirit drooped, the girl’s would go to pieces. ‘He didn’t kill me, ’cos here I am, all alive-o and smiling! And he did stop at Miss Brant’s revolver.’ He paused. ‘She’s got some pluck, hasn’t she?’
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