“You have my congratulations, Mrs. Crewe,” said Harrison.
“That’s better,” said the old lady, brightly. “And I think I deserve them, too. Now, if you don’t mind, I want you to come for a drive with me.”
“Whatever you command,” answered Harrison.
“I’m glad you realise it,” said Mrs. Crewe, as the two men reappeared in the room.
“I shan’t make a fuss,” said Harrison.
“Better not,” said Mrs. Crewe. “Like yourself, I believe in a bodyguard, and they’re quite average shots. Come along.”
The two men moved across the room to seize Harrison, who looked for the moment as if he was going to show fight.
“I appeal to you, Mrs. Crewe,” he said; “I told you I would come quietly.”
Mrs. Crewe motioned to the men not to touch him and then, turning her most malevolent look on the detective, said, venomously, “And you will go quietly, too, that’s certain.”
Chapter XXII
Mrs. Crewe’s Justice
Harrison followed Mrs. Crewe downstairs, with the two men in close attendance, and was ushered to a large saloon motor-car in which Drina Esberg was already seated.
He got in and sat beside her, while the two men followed and sat facing them. Another man of equally villainous countenance could be seen sitting by the river.
As they moved off, another car drew up. This seemed to him to be one he had seen occupied by Mrs. Crewe in Toulon. The brief glance he had of the driver confirmed this, and beside him was the large negro. Mrs. Crewe was evidently to join the procession.
If the two men had been told to travel with him to prevent any suspicious communication between himself and Miss Esberg, their services might have been spared, for the lady was speechless with panic, and had nothing whatever to say to him. She merely sat squeezed up in a corner of the car, staring in front of her with terror-stricken eyes. Judging by her effect both on Miss Rich and Miss Esberg, thought Harrison, Mrs. Crewe is extraordinarily expert in creating an atmosphere of horror. He had no doubt that Mrs. Crewe’s worst could be peculiarly unpleasant, but her victims aided her by what her own Kai Lung might have called honourable anticipation.
There was no effort at a roundabout route to Toulon, and no suggestion that he should not identify the road they were taking. Certainly Mrs. Crewe was feeling very sure of herself. Perhaps she possessed a little more vanity regarding the astuteness of her plans than he had realised. That was even luckier than he had expected. He had thought that from the words she had spoken in Drina’s room, she had shown amazing complacence. She had wanted to assume that she had tricked the detective with her ingenuity, and had given little thought to any other possible result. All the better, even Mrs. Crewe has her own little weakness, and criminals have to pay for their weaknesses.
As he wondered whether Mrs. Crewe’s vanity would not be able to resist a spell of gloating over him, the motor-car reached the outskirts of Toulon and turned off into the district occupied by the population of extreme political views upon which he had asked Henry to glue his eyes from the look-out tower of the fire-station. The locality was poor but not too squalid. There was small working-class property, closely huddled together, interspersed with an occasional larger building which might have been a factory. As these either presented blind walls or rows of windows, encrusted with age-old grime, to the roadway, it was difficult to decide whether they were still “going concerns.” Harrison’s impression was that they were mainly derelict.
The car finally stopped in a narrow, closely-packed street in front of a fairly large building of the factory type. There was a group of men about the doorway and he and Drina Esberg were speedily hustled out of the car and inside. The girl disappeared under another escort, while he was pushed into a small room near the door wherein was standing Archie Crewe. “Good morning, Mr. Detective,” said Archie, with a sneering smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Crewe,” returned Harrison, genially, “so you have got me at last.”
“Of course we have,” answered Archie. “You never thought you could beat us, did you? And what is more, Mr. Detective, you’re in a very tight corner.” He turned to one of the men and said, “Search him.”
At that moment such an action hardly suited Harrison’s plans. The room was satisfactory and, as he had hoped, there was a fireplace in it but, although a search might have been justified and even proper, he did not want one to be started until he felt certain that Mrs. Crewe and the others had come into the building. That they would all do so eventually, he felt sure. Mrs. Crewe’s tone indicated complete belief in her security, and none of the gang would want to be left out of the morning’s proceedings.
“Just a minute, Mr. Crewe,” said Harrison, “I swear I have no firearms, but, as to anything else I have, I should prefer Mrs. Crewe to be present.”
“Nonsense,” said Archie, rather piqued, and added, to the man, “get on with it.”
“Don’t forget I warned you,” said Harrison.
Archie looked at him, undecided, and the man made no move.
“Surely you’re not frightened of Mrs. Crewe,” said Harrison, sweetly.
“Oh, very well,” said Archie, sourly, and sent one of the men to find her.
“All this fuss won’t help you,” he grumbled to Harrison.
“Why should I expect it to?” was the reply.
The two men stood looking at one another for a moment or two until Mrs. Crewe appeared. Archie explained Harrison’s demand and was greeted with the reply that he was a perfect fool. Infuriated at this, he told the man to get on with his job. The man came near and, at that moment, Harrison put his band quickly in his pocket and, drawing out a small packet, dropped it on the floor.
From this packet there arose dense fumes of unpleasant smoke, and the room was quickly in a fog. Again Harrison put his hand in his pocket and this time drew out a larger packet which he threw into the fireplace. From this packet rose even thicker volumes of smoke which went curling up the chimney, but he felt certain that the other occupants of the room were so pre-occupied in guarding themselves from the first onslaught that they had not seen him dispose of the second packet. So much for Henry, he thought, now for a demonstration, and he started pushing his way violently towards the door. The others were also making their escape from the room and, as he reached clearer air, they came coughing through the doorway. He still continued pushing forward and reached the front-door through which he had come but, as he had expected and hoped, he found it bolted. The noise had brought other men to the scene and two of these roughly took hold of Harrison and awaited orders.
Mrs. Crewe had vanished, but Archie Crewe came up to him with an ugly look, more out-of-temper than ever.
“Clever Mr. Detective, eh?” he said. “A silly trick. Still, you’re going to be searched now whether you lordship likes it or not.”
The men went through Harrison’s pockets with a crude lack of delicacy, and found nothing but a few scraps of paper, a bunch of keys and some loose French money.
“Thought you were going to have me with all your talk about not being touched till the old lady arrived?” grumbled Archie. “Well, you’ve made the mistake of your life, my lad; you’ve upset her now and you’re going to get what’s coming to you—full and strong.”
Harrison made no answer.
“Thought you were one better than Archie?” continued Crewe. “Tried to make the old lady sore with him, did you? Clever, wasn’t it? It’s my turn to laugh now.”
“Why don’t you?” asked Harrison.
“Don’t answer me,” returned Archie, furiously, raising his hand, “or I’ll give you something to remember me by.”
“And what would Mrs. Crewe say to that?” asked Harrison.
The man looked irresolute and then dropped his arm.
“What’s the good?” he said, weakly. “It might spoil what’s to come.”
“That would be a pity,” said Harrison, drily.
Archie Crewe
glared at him again, but his attention was distracted by another man who came out of a passage and whispered to him.
“Good,” said Archie, “we’ll bring him along.”
He motioned to the two men who were still tightly holding Harrison and they started pushing him along in front of them. The two men seemed to be experts at this form of locomotion, for Harrison found himself moving along a passage at no slow speed. At the end of it he was bundled through a doorway and found himself in a very large room, about the size, shape and style of a small village hall. Obviously this had been part of a factory although no machinery was now to be seen.
In fact, a much stranger picture was presented to Harrison’s eyes. On a dais at the end of the hall, facing the door through which he had come, was a long table, covered with a green baize cloth. Behind it sat, in the centre, in an armchair, Mrs. Crewe, while on each side of her sat two men, obviously inferior beings, because they had no arms to their chairs. In front of each of them were pens, paper and ink, the whole having a very formal appearance.
In the hall, in front of the dais, was a large table at which a number of men were sitting. Some of them were writing and all the available space on the table was covered with papers. The rest of the hall was occupied by orderly rows of chairs, and these were well occupied by a motley collection of men and women, many of them bearing the hall mark of their profession of crime in their looks, although there were one or two young women of tolerably good looks who would hardly be expected to keep such company.
Harrison’s progress continued up the hall, and he noticed that Netta Crewe was sitting in the front row of spectators. She looked fixedly at him as he passed, but gave no sign of recognition. He was finally pushed towards a chair at the side of the large table and found that his neighbour, who was too obviously engaged with a sheaf of papers, was none other than Mr. Humphrey Bliss, the barrister who had called on him in London, and whom he had seen again for a moment in Toulon.
“You can sit down, Mr. Harrison,” said Mrs. Crewe, “the court has no objection.”
Harrison sat down and waited.
“First of all,” continued Mrs. Crewe, “I wish to give you my opinion of the schoolboy trick you played just now. It was unworthy of you, Mr. Harrison. It could not conceivably do you any good, and it gave others positive discomfort. I trust you regret your action.”
Harrison could hardly believe his ears. Here was Mrs. Crewe in another guise, aping the ponderous solemnity of the bench.
“I had always thought that we agreed on one thing,” he said, “and that is to try every method, however heavily the odds seem against it. It might come off, you can’t be certain.”
“A poor justification,” said Mrs. Crewe. “However, we will let that pass. You will realise, Mr. Harrison, that I and my friends—” she indicated the four men on the platform with her—“are here today to decide a grave issue connected with yourself. But I think I should first explain, for your benefit, that you may regard yourself in a court of justice. Not quite the same as those you are used to, but fashioned on similar lines. Your experience may have shown you that operations against society need as much careful organisation as those for its protection. Possibly more so, because the majority is usually prepared to support society whereas those who make their livelihood by disregarding the law must be a small, energetic and highly-organised band. You agree?”
“I prefer to make no comment,” said Harrison.
“There you make a mistake, Mr. Harrison,” answered Mrs. Crewe. “Our prisoners here have a perfect liberty of speech. We do not come to a decision without listening to all the evidence. But I think a little further explanation is necessary. Discipline is essential to every community. The curse of democracy is its lack of discipline and therefore its lack of certainty. Our community, which is much larger than you imagine, has a rigid discipline. It also has a rigid justice. My invention, Mr. Harrison.”
“Congratulations,” commented Harrison.
“There is no need to sneer,” said Mrs. Crewe, severely. “If your community was treated with half the fairness mine receives, it would be regarded as an unusually high type of civilisation. Your community recognises certain classes of fraud, like those perpetrated by financiers, when it is not strong enough to punish them. Mine treats all alike.”
There was a murmur of approval from the spectators, and it was obvious that the speech was intended as much for their ears as for Harrison’s. “But in return for its fair treatment of its members, my community expects fair treatment from them in return,” continued Mrs. Crewe. “Until the states of the world came to their present position of muddled compromises there was one crime against them above all other crimes and that was treason. They are now too flabbily organised even to care for that, their citizens are a herd without initiative, their rulers corrupt and their law contemptible. In my community the one crime which goes to its very roots is that of treason, and it is therefore the one we stamp out and punish with utter ruthlessness.”
Mrs. Crewe was now speaking in such a way as to make every word tell. The crowded hall was completely silent; there was not a rustle and her words were undoubtedly being taken to heart.
“Indeed there is very little treachery among us,” said Mrs. Crewe, “and that is partly the result of the knowledge that justice will certainly be meted out to the offender speedily and effectually, but it does occur occasionally.”
“As you have kindly given me permission to say what I like,” interrupted Harrison, “I fail to see what all this has to do with me. As I do not acknowledge your authority or belong to your community, I am at a loss to understand how I could, by any stretch of imagination, be accused of treachery to it.”
“I shall come to that in a moment,” replied Mrs. Crewe. “My object at present is to give you an outline of the organisation which has established this court in which you are appearing. I have mentioned the justice dispensed here. Should one member of our community have a grievance against another or even against the community itself, he or she can come to this court at once and get redress. The case is carefully heard. There is no secrecy. Members of the community who are not otherwise engaged are entitled to be present and listen to the hearing. To the best of my belief, everyone is satisfied.”
Here Mrs. Crewe seemed to appeal by her tone to the general gathering, and there was again a murmur of approval. Harrison realised that this old lady certainly dominated the “community” of which she spoke and, if she was feared, she also demanded their trust.
“But, apart from what might be called the civil side of this court,” she continued, “there is the criminal side. Petty misdemeanours against our community are suitably punished. The crime of treason receives the only reward it can deserve. The reward it was given when your society knew how to protect itself—death.”
These words were said with such impressive solemnity that a rustle of horror was heard through the hall.
“I apologise if these preliminaries have been long, Mr. Harrison,” said Mrs. Crewe, “but to my mind, they are essential for you to understand your position. There has recently been a case of treachery in our community. It was punished quickly, adequately, and to my mind justly. You have been at great pains to mix yourself up with this particular affair. In your community, criminals are put to death with a show of legality. In mine, it is rather more difficult and so we have to exercise a certain amount of ingenuity regarding the disposal of those we have punished. In this case you have decide to question our method and that cannot be permitted, unless, of course, you have some adequate reason. Do wish to give an explanation, Mr. Harrison?”
“First of all, Mrs. Crewe,” answered Harrison, quietly, “I do not recognise your mockery of a law court.”
“Believe me, Mr. Harrison,” was the equally quiet answer, “it is no mockery. It only uses the methods you understand because they have been found suitable to its purpose. But it dispenses justice, you can be certain of that.”
“Mrs. Crewe’s
justice,” answered Harrison, while mutterings of dissent rose behind him. ‘‘I do not recognise it. The justice I recognise is something much different.”
“Higher, I suppose?” said one of the men at the table.
“Obviously,” answered Harrison.
Again there were angry mutterings behind him.
“While society exists as I know it,” he continued, “I shall be a servant of the justice for which it stands. When a man has been done to death and his body thrown on the English roadside, that to me is murder. You can say you punished him for some offence against your own laws. To me it is still murder. I do not recognise your court. I do not recognise your right to take life. You have murdered a man, brutally and foully, and it is my duty to bring you to justice.”
During Harrison’s words, a number of men had risen in protest, but Mrs. Crewe peremptorily bade them sit down.
“That is all very well as far as it goes, Mr. Harrison,” she replied; “but you have not brought me to justice. Might I suggest that it is I who have brought you to justice? You have interfered, and dangerously interfered, with my community. You are in the same position as the traitor I have already mentioned. Now what have you to say?”
“Nothing,” said Harrison, “I do not recognise your court.”
“That is a pity,” said Mrs. Crewe. “Still we had provided for that. In cases like yours it is quite unusual for us to have the prisoner in front of us. We usually have to try him in his absence—for obvious reasons. But even then we try to be scrupulously fair and give him every chance. Our system is to retain an advocate on his behalf who is given every chance of defending him. In your case we went to the trouble and expense of retaining Mr. Humphrey Bliss, a barrister of growing reputation in England. I may say, Mr. Harrison, Mr. Bliss has spared no effort on your behalf. Rarely have I heard a finer piece of pleading.” Harrison looked at his neighbour, but Mr. Bliss still found it more convenient to keep his attention fixed on his papers. “Every possible argument has been used in your defence by Mr. Bliss,” continued Mrs. Crewe, “and I can assure you they have all been taken into account by your judges. We have no jury here, but we have five judges who carefully consider the evidence. In your case, Mr. Bliss was able to prove that you were highly intelligent, that you had been what you would call a good citizen, and that you had been highly successful in the capture of criminals. Believe me, that did not prejudice us. A certain type of criminal is as abhorrent to us as he is to yourself. All that went to your credit. But you had interfered with our organisation. All the evidence was against you there. You had been given warnings, liberal warnings, if I may say so, but you persisted in these activities. Now, it is obvious from your conversation, reported at different times, that you know too much, and are therefore highly dangerous.”
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