Below the Clock
Page 22
‘That is quite serious, and since you are here—’
Amos stopped talking suddenly. The telephone bell rang. Ripple waved his hand towards it, and Petrie moved the receiver. The call came from Scotland Yard. Petrie listened for a few seconds only, swore, and slammed down the receiver viciously. It was Ripple’s turn to register astonishment. Only a couple of times before had he seen Amos annoyed.
‘So that wasn’t Curtis on the line?’ he asked.
‘Was it hell as like!’
‘Then why all the fluster and temper?’
‘I wish to heaven I’d never dabbled with this case. Everything is arranged perfectly, nothing could be better—and now all I’ve done, all the scheming I’ve arranged, has gone up in air.’
‘How? Why? What? When? Where?’ Ripple drew a finger round his collar.
‘I’ve just been saying that he was going to the condemned cell. I had made the arrangement. At this moment our little friend Curtis is ensconced in his seat in the House of Commons! The devil alone knows why he was allowed to get back there, but whoever is to blame ought to be taken into Whitehall and publicly pole-axed.’
Ripple adopted an expression intended to portray grief. He looked as though a faint was imminent. He placed an elbow on the mantelpiece.
‘Give me that warrant,’ snapped Amos, ‘and we’ll go.’
‘Just a moment,’ interrupted Ferguson. ‘Surely you daren’t try to execute that warrant in the House of Commons? Why, such a thing has not been done since Lord Cochrane!’
‘Or Bellingham,’ said Amos primly.
‘No, no,’ remarked Ferguson. ‘Bellingham’s case bears absolutely no resemblance to this, except that it was one of murder. I know something about these things. Bellingham was seized by the servants of the House, and committed for trial by one of its committees.’
Petrie nodded his head and smiled.
‘I know that. If all else fails I must ask you to persuade the House to follow the Bellingham precedent. Let’s hope that matters can be arranged differently.’
Ferguson was alarmed by the prospect.
‘Please, please, Mr Petrie,’ he said, ‘do let me remind you that there is another way in which your end can be achieved. I believe there was an occasion when the police wanted a member, and they waited until the House had risen. Then they took care to see that a detective was driving the taxicab. Couldn’t something be done in that way? You may be sure that the House would be grateful to you if you can avoid any interference with its liberties. And you would still be able to execute the warrant.’
Petrie took off his thick-lensed glasses and wiped them. He shook his head with emphasis.
‘I had thought of that. I don’t usually act impetuously. But the difficulty about your plan is twofold. Firstly, Curtis never takes a taxi when the House rises. He always walks. Secondly, the House, I am informed, will sit through the night.’
‘Lord!’ exclaimed Ferguson. ‘I’d forgotten that they’re on Budget resolutions. That’s funny.’
Petrie laughed softly. The coincidence was appealing to his sense of humour.
‘This Budget will certainly take its place in history,’ he said. ‘I want you to come along to the House with me. We’re in an awkward fix, but there might be some exit from it.’
The taxi was travelling along the Embankment when Amos spoke:
‘I’m going to the Yard first. I want Watson to write a note to Curtis begging him to go round and see him. That might do it.’
There were difficulties in the way. In the first place Lola Reardon fainted with such effect that it seemed she had passed away for ever. In the second place, Watson proved sulky. Both were removed to a private office, and the transfer produced a better spirit. At the end of twenty minutes Watson unwillingly consented to pen the note. The persuasive power at his elbow was Lola.
Ripple was delegated to take the note to the House, and while he was away Petrie explained to Lola and Watson exactly how they had become involved in suspicion, and why they had been treated somewhat callously. Then Petrie left them in order to make the necessary arrangements for meeting Curtis in Westminster Palace Yard.
‘Look here,’ said Ferguson, somewhat timidly, ‘I don’t want to meet Curtis after all that has happened.’
‘Nor do we,’ announced Watson.
Petrie had just returned to the room. He grinned.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I hope that my enthusiasm will atone for you.’
The telephone bell jangled. Petrie spoke for a moment. When he replaced the receiver he was no longer smiling.
‘Don’t worry about meeting him yet,’ he said. ‘Instead of walking out into the arms of the police, he smelt a rat, took alarm and doubled back into the House of Commons.’
The news had the effect of dispersing those in the office. But they were immediately called back by Petrie. He took Ferguson by the arm.
‘Isn’t it time we talked to the Cabinet about Bellingham’s case?’
‘Come on, then,’ said Ferguson. For a moment he had feared that something more drastic was being planned by the little man. Ferguson had no idea what would happen.
There was only one man in London who might have guessed. And he was in his seat in the House of Commons, like a badger in his earth, unable to move because of watchful terriers, but hearing the sound of spades as hunters dug down to him. Apart from Curtis there were only a dozen members in the House, waiting for an opportunity to air their views in the dull hour that follows dinner.
The Chairman of Committees occupied his seat at the Clerk’s table.
Quite suddenly—too suddenly for the weary nerves of bored members, the swing doors were flung back with a crash. Excited voices were heard in the lobby outside. Members swarmed into the room like sheep trooping through a gate before a barking dog.
‘Order, order!’ called members awaiting their chance to speak.
‘I must ask members to enter more quietly,’ roared the Chairman.
One of the newcomers shrieked with piercing loudness:
‘It’s the police!’
‘There are no police in this House,’ shouted the Chairman.
‘There soon will be,’ bellowed another arrival. He was right. As the last straggler rushed through the swing doors the blue coats of following constabulary could be seen through the glass. Then helmet-shaded eyes searched the chamber.
‘I can see more in the lobby behind the Speaker’s chair,’ called Tranter. He waved his hand in that direction.
Their eyes had barely had time to follow the line of his gesture when another member raised his voice in a stentorian bellow:
‘They’re in the Noe Lobby as well.’
The House was blockaded!
The Chairman issued a message ordering the police to remove immediately. The command was ignored. Members were huddled in groups.
‘Lock all the doors,’ shouted the Chairman.
Disturbed while in conference, Mr Speaker rushed back into the House at the urgent, almost hysterical summons of his deputy. He was followed by Joe Manning and all the leaders of the Opposition and the Treasury Bench in a body.
Amos Petrie slipped into the Civil Servants’ pew under the gallery. As he did so Dick Curtis nodded grimly to him. The man had not before given the slightest sign that he was aware of his surroundings, that he was troubled by fears, or that the tumult had any interest for him.
Willie Ingram, the Prime Minister, stepped to the table. It seemed to surprise members that Ingram should want to speak instead of listening. Most of them had lost mental balance. Still, even under those circumstances Ingram’s manner defeated them. The Prime Minister stood for some moments with his face twitching and his lips trembling. But no words arrived.
The silence was palpable.
At last he told them. There was a warrant out for murder. The police had entered the chamber to execute it. He expressed a pathetic certainty that the person named in the warrant would be the first to want to answer th
at charge—in the proper place. For the guidance of that person, and for no other reason, he would give the name:
‘Richard Curtis!’
As the name was pronounced, as a sighing gasp soared through the chamber, Curtis half rose and bowed towards the Premier.
‘Unlock the doors!’ called Mr Speaker.
They were swung back. But though the way was open, Curtis made no attempt to move. He smiled serenely in the direction of Amos Petrie and dabbed a pinch of snuff to his nose. All eyes were concentrated on him, everyone waiting for the expected move.
It became obvious that he did not mean to leave the chamber. Instead, he settled down more firmly in his seat. Those nearest to him commenced to move restlessly. Many of them edged away until they huddled together on other benches, or crowded the gangways.
A policeman’s head appeared once more at the glass of the door leading into the lobby.
Joe Manning abruptly drew attention to himself.
‘If the member in question has not the decency to withdraw, I move that he be expelled.’
The Speaker moved uneasily in his chair. A dozen members shouted their support. Still Curtis made no move.
The Speaker rose with stiff dignity, gathering his robes round him.
‘As the House is about to discuss this motion,’ he said, turning to face Curtis, ‘I must ask the honourable member to say what he has to say in self-justification, and then to withdraw in accordance with the rules.’
The man he addressed made no attempt to speak. He sat with one shoulder turned away from the Speaker, his chin on his shoulder, as though ashamed but immovable.
Patience was exhausted. The Speaker ordered his removal. Rising from his pew, the Sergeant-at-Arms rose briskly to obey the order. At the Bar he bowed before entering upon the ground reserved for Members. With one hand on the hilt of his dress sword, he strode up the floor of the House. Twice more he halted to bow. Another few steps, and members saw a shirt cuff shoot out as the black-coated arm outstretched to touch the obstinate shoulders; the little dress sword jutted out behind black tail coats as the Sergeant bent to whisper in the too deaf ear. The Sergeant-at-Arms drew back his hand as though stung. He looked into the averted face and recoiled.
The man he bent over had gone to join Edgar Reardon! In his hand he held a snuff-box. It contained strophanthin!
THE END
THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB
E. C. BENTLEY • TRENT’S LAST CASE
E. C. BENTLEY • TRENT INTERVENES
E. C. BENTLEY & H. WARNER ALLEN • TRENT’S OWN CASE
ANTHONY BERKELEY • THE WYCHFORD POISONING CASE
ANTHONY BERKELEY • THE SILK STOCKING MURDERS
LYNN BROCK • NIGHTMARE
BERNARD CAPES • THE MYSTERY OF THE SKELETON KEY
AGATHA CHRISTIE • THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
AGATHA CHRISTIE • THE BIG FOUR
WILKIE COLLINS • THE MOONSTONE
HUGH CONWAY • CALLED BACK
HUGH CONWAY • DARK DAYS
EDMUND CRISPIN • THE CASE OF THE GILDED FLY
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE CASK
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE PONSON CASE
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE PIT-PROP SYNDICATE
FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE GROOTE PARK MURDER
MAURICE DRAKE • THE MYSTERY OF THE MUD FLATS
FRANCIS DURBRIDGE • BEWARE OF JOHNNY WASHINGTON
J. JEFFERSON FARJEON • THE HOUSE OPPOSITE
RUDOLPH FISHER • THE CONJURE-MAN DIES
FRANK FROËST • THE GRELL MYSTERY
FRANK FROËST & GEORGE DILNOT • THE CRIME CLUB
FRANK FROËST & GEORGE DILNOT • THE ROGUES’ SYNDICATE
ÉMILE GABORIAU • THE BLACKMAILERS
ANNA K. GREEN • THE LEAVENWORTH CASE
DONALD HENDERSON • MR BOWLING BUYS A NEWSPAPER
VERNON LODER • THE MYSTERY AT STOWE
PHILIP MACDONALD • THE RASP
PHILIP MACDONALD • THE NOOSE
PHILIP MACDONALD • THE RYNOX MYSTERY
PHILIP MACDONALD • MURDER GONE MAD
PHILIP MACDONALD • THE MAZE
NGAIO MARSH • THE NURSING HOME MURDER
G. ROY McRAE • THE PASSING OF MR QUINN
R. A. V. MORRIS • THE LYTTLETON CASE
ARTHUR B. REEVE • THE ADVENTURESS
JOHN RHODE • THE PADDINGTON MYSTERY
FRANK RICHARDSON • THE MAYFAIR MYSTERY
R. L. STEVENSON • DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE
EDGAR WALLACE • THE TERROR
ISRAEL ZANGWILL • THE PERFECT CRIME
FURTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION
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