Murderer's Trail

by J. Jefferson Farjeon

  ‘We might make a pact?’

  ‘Sure! Meantime, let’s hear the truth of that nasty mess inside there.’

  ‘Sure! Pick up Miss Holbrooke, get her into the hut—there’s an upper room with a bed in it—put her there—and you shall hear the story.’

  Faggis obeyed, and they walked towards the hut. Suddenly Ben wondered why no one had noticed the absence of Molly Smith. The solution was at his elbow.

  ‘I’ve discovered something!’ whispered Molly. ‘The mule!’

  Lummy! For slippiness, eels weren’t in it!

  They reached the hut. Greene was standing anxiously in the doorway. He stared at Sims venomously, divided between gratification and anger at the sight.

  ‘How many more have we got to kill?’ he demanded.

  ‘I can only think of four,’ replied Sims. ‘I exclude of course Miss Holbrooke. Take her up, Faggis, and then come down again.’

  A minute later, Miss Holbrooke was lying on the bed in the little upper room, and the rest of the party had gathered in the parlour immediately below to hear their leader’s story.

  It was gruesome, and it was short. When Sims had reached the cottage, he had found the wrong man waiting for him. The meeting had involved a joint surprise, for the wrong man seemed unprepared, and was, according to Sims, wholly lacking in tact. The result was that antagonism developed rather swiftly, and the swiftness of the development necessitated a swift solution.

  ‘And the solution, gentlemen, lies at our feet,’ said Sims.

  ‘You mean—he was a detective?’ asked Greene bluntly.

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ admitted Sims, rather sadly, ‘we hardly had time to find out very much about each other. He may have been a detective.’

  ‘Nothing to show it on him,’ said Greene.

  ‘There wouldn’t be, if he was a good detective,’ replied Sims. ‘But, if he was a detective, he was a very bad one. As I have implied, he had no tact. He seemed quite incapable of fencing. He also had no sense of self-protection. Would a detective have arranged to meet so considerable an army as ours without a bit of an army himself? It’s not likely—no, it’s not likely.’

  ‘Then, darnation, who was he?’ demanded Faggis. ‘And how do you know he wasn’t the proper feller, after all?’

  ‘Because I do not happen to be a fool, Faggis,’ answered Sims, ‘and do not give responsible jobs to strangers. This man was a stranger to me. He may have got inside knowledge in some way—there has never been a scheme so watertight that leakage was impossible—and he may have been working for a rival party.’

  ‘More likely he was working on his own,’ suggested Greene.

  ‘Much more likely,’ agreed Sims. ‘It would explain, perhaps, his nerviness—his lack of assurance. If he had had friends near by, or shortly arriving, he’d surely have used his wits to hold the situation. On the contrary, he lost his head—and I did not lose mine.’

  ‘He lost more than his head,’ said Greene.

  ‘Yes, exactly. And we must see that we do not lose our own heads, and we must not bank on theories. He may have been playing a lone hand. He may have been one of a gang. Or he may even have been a detective—a very bad detective. Only in the first of these three alternatives have we nothing to fear. Do you understand?’

  ‘We’re not babes-in-arms,’ remarked Faggis.

  ‘Thank you, Faggis. I will make a note of it. And, as we’re not babes-in-arms, we must act on the assumption that the worst is possible. The worst being that this man has friends, either inside or outside the police force, who may come and look for him.’

  There was a short silence. Minds were busy. But they all waited on Sims’s mind.

  ‘In addition to general vigilance and absolute unity,’ said Sims, at last, ‘there are three immediate things to be done. But let us settle the vigilance and the unity first. Is it agreed, without the remotest dissent, that I am your leader to be obeyed instantly and without question in all things?’

  ‘That’s obvious, isn’t it?’ replied Molly, addressing the conference for the first time.

  ‘I’m glad to hear you say so,’ answered Sims, his voice giving no indication as to whether he believed her or not. ‘What about the others?’

  ‘O.K., for me,’ said Greene.

  ‘What’s this about?’ said Faggis. ‘Who’s objecting?’

  ‘And you, Ben?’ asked Sims, turning to the least effective member of the party with a cynical smile.

  ‘’Oo?’ blinked Ben.

  ‘Have I anything to fear from you?’ inquired Sims.

  ‘Fear from me, is it?’ responded Ben. ‘Oh, yus! I look like I could knock anybody dahn, doesn’t I? If yer was ter put me hup agin a week-old chicken wot ’ad bin rode hover by a motor bus, I couldn’t pull its beak!’

  ‘But if the flesh were not weak, what would the spirit be?’ pressed Sims.

  ‘Yus or no,’ retorted Ben, ‘whichever one yer tryin’ for.’

  ‘That’s generous. Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with our unity, when my revolver and my knife—’

  ‘My knife,’ corrected Faggis.

  ‘… The knife that used to belong to Mr Faggis but that now belongs to me—are added. Now, how about the vigilance? Suppose you station yourself at the window, Greene, and keep a look out?’

  ‘And stop the first bullet?’

  ‘We’ll lower the lamp. Then you won’t be such a mark.’ He lowered the wick as he spoke. ‘Now I think you’ll be safe, Greene. Do you mind?’

  ‘Delighted! But I can’t think why I’m honoured?’

  ‘A third officer has to pass a vision test. Your sight is keener than ours.’

  ‘Hear that, Faggis? A compliment! The Eighth Wonder! Well, here goes to make myself a target.’ He crossed to the window. ‘And now what about those three immediate things we’ve got to do?’

  ‘One is to get rid of this fellow at our feet.’

  ‘Agreed. But where do we put him?’

  ‘Somewhere where he won’t be found until the year 1990. I’ve no doubt you two can stow him away safely.’

  ‘Us, of course!’

  ‘You, of course. Then we’ve got to have another look for another body.’

  ‘Ain’t this cheerful?’ said Ben.

  ‘Shut up, you fool!’ exclaimed Faggis. And then asked Sims, ‘What other body? And what other look?’

  ‘The body of the man who ought to have been here,’ replied Sims. ‘It’s my opinion he hasn’t been long dead. Maybe he isn’t dead at all. That would explain the flurry of the fool I’ve just had to kill myself.’

  ‘I see,’ murmured Greene, and he gazed more intensely out of the window. ‘Yes, that might explain it. You’ve had one look already, then?’

  ‘I was searching when you came along.’

  ‘Well? And Number Three?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Number Three,’ said Sims, ‘is the boat.’

  ‘What about the boat?’ exclaimed Faggis.

  Greene, also, seemed rather surprised.

  ‘This about the boat,’ answered Sims. ‘If the boat is found—and there may be folk around to find it—it will almost inevitably lead to us. On the other hand, if it is hidden away, it may be useful should we suddenly need it.’

  ‘That’s right,’ nodded Ben. ‘If some ’un comes along, you on’y got to jump four miles!’

  ‘Will you shut up!’ cried Faggis.

  ‘All the same, he’s right this time,’ remarked Greene. ‘How’s the boat going to help us in an emergency?’

  ‘If one knew in advance all the points affecting an emergency,’ said Sims dryly, ‘there wouldn’t be an emergency. I know you’ve had a long day, Greene, but try to keep your brain awake. That boat has got to be hidden away somewhere, and it’s got to be hidden in a place where we can get hold of it quickly and launch it if we want to.’

  ‘Brain awake! By Jiminy, that’s comic!’ rasped Greene, smarting and indignant. ‘How the devil d’you suppose we’re going to make
the beach in the darkness?’

  ‘It won’t be in the darkness,’ replied Sims calmly. ‘You forget, there’ll be a moon.’

  ‘That’s true,’ reflected Faggis. ‘And no clouds, as there were last night, to obscure it. Yes, but talking of brains,’ he added, ‘where were yours when you let us leave the boat in the open before coming along here? Couldn’t we have stowed it away then?’

  There were two reasons why Sims had not stowed the boat away then, but he only explained one of them. The other they learned later.

  ‘I think my brain can even stand that question, Faggis,’ said Sims. ‘We had one hour for this journey, and the light was failing. There wasn’t time. Any more questions?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got one,’ interposed Molly, ‘and it comes before any of the others, or I drop out. You’ve got to bring Miss Holbrooke round!’

  Mr Sims shook his head in mock despair.

  ‘Dear, dear!’ he murmured. ‘This young lady is very persistent.’

  ‘And she’s going to get more so.’

  ‘Then my hand is forced. As a matter of fact, I had wished to see to Miss Holbrooke first, but I anticipated trouble from other quarters.’

  He glanced towards Greene and Faggis, and Greene asked curtly what that meant.

  ‘Well,’ explained Sims, ‘if I bring Miss Holbrooke round, she will have to be looked after, and I shall not be able to leave the hut myself.’

  ‘But I’ll look after her,’ said Molly. ‘That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, but who will look after you, Miss Smith?’ queried Sims. ‘And Ben? However, let us have a show of hands, just to prove that I am not invariably an autocrat. Who votes for immediate attention to Miss Holbrooke?’

  Three hands went up. The hands of Molly, Ben and Sims.

  ‘Three to two,’ announced Sims. ‘The ayes win. Then our arrangements are as follows. Miss Holbrooke will be attended to in the room above our heads. Miss Smith will remain with Miss Holbrooke, and read nursery rhymes to her. You, Greene, and you, Faggis, will get rid of our quiet friend on the ground—you can do that while I am being Miss Holbrooke’s doctor—and after that, if the moon is not up, we can poke round for any sign of the late manager of this hotel—or of the enemy.’

  ‘We shan’t find much till the moon’s up,’ commented Greene. ‘It’s almost pitch black out there.’

  ‘And, when the moon is up,’ replied Sims, ‘you and Faggis will set off immediately for the boat.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said Greene suddenly.

  ‘I am,’ answered Sims. ‘I’d shoot you where you stand without the slightest hesitation, if it suited my purpose.’

  Greene frowned uneasily, and Faggis took up the objection where Greene dropped it.

  ‘There’s two of us,’ Faggis reminded him.

  ‘I can count,’ responded Sims. ‘But, even if, while I killed Greene, you killed me, Faggis, or if while I killed you, Greene killed me, the survivor would be utterly helpless and discredited and moneyless in a strange country. No money. No language—saving in the decorative sense. No future prospects. A black past. And, just incidentally, I happen to belong to a little organisation that would be very curious if anything happened to me. You don’t suppose all of this could have been planned and carried out if my friends hadn’t been pretty useful, do you? No, Faggis. No, Greene. If I’m dead, you’ll never make a cent out of Miss Holbrooke. You’ll just swing for her.’

  He paused. Greene shifted a little way from the window, and glanced quickly at Faggis.

  ‘I wouldn’t lose a hell of a lot if I did shoot you both this instant,’ said Sims.

  Faggis had been sitting on the edge of the table. He rose carelessly.

  ‘Why don’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I’m rather tender-hearted,’ replied Sims, quietly watching every movement, ‘and my friends rather like me to stick to my word, just as they insist that others shall stick to theirs. If you’re good dogs, I expect you’ll still be worth your keep.’

  ‘If we’re good dogs,’ said Faggis, lounging a step nearer.

  ‘Very good dogs,’ repeated Sims, and covered Faggis.

  Faggis smiled, and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘We’ll play square, if you do,’ he said, and sat down again. ‘There’s just one thing I want to ask, though, and you can stick down your cannon while I’m asking, if you like.’

  ‘I don’t like,’ answered Sims, ‘until I hear what the question is.’

  ‘Quite a simple one, Sims,’ said Faggis. ‘What do you do, exactly, while Greene and I are seeing to the boat?’

  ‘Yes, that’s quite a simple one,’ agreed Sims. ‘While you’re seeing to your end, I’m seeing to mine. Miss Smith will be watching Miss Holbrooke. I will be watching Miss Smith—’

  ‘What’s that?’ interposed Molly. ‘Watching me?’

  ‘Of course. With Faggis and Greene away, I must see that our two latest recruits do not suddenly get it into their heads to jump upon me.’

  ‘A lot of good that would do us!’ retorted Molly. ‘You think us mugs, don’t you?’

  ‘You would certainly be mugs to jump upon me.’

  ‘Well, you can put that out of your mind!’

  ‘I mean to. While you are spending the night upstairs, the key of your room will be in my pocket.’

  Molly swung round angrily.

  ‘You’re going to lock me in?’ she cried.

  ‘There! You see!’ answered Sims. ‘You rouse my suspicions at once! Why shouldn’t you be locked in? Will it make any difference to your plans?’

  ‘Not a cent’s worth,’ retorted Molly. ‘That’s why it’s so damn silly. Still, have it your own way. You’re the boss, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am,’ admitted Sims.

  ‘And wotcher goin’ ter do ter me?’ asked Ben. ‘Lock me hin too?’

  Mr Sims removed his eyes from Molly, and fixed them on Ben.

  ‘Don’t be impatient, Ben.’ He smiled. ‘You’ll learn all in good time.’

  ‘You’re not going to hurt him?’ exclaimed Molly.

  ‘Hurt him, Miss Smith? I love him like a son!’ He raised his head suddenly. ‘Do I hear a movement upstairs? Run up to Miss Holbrooke quickly, please. I’ll follow you immediately.’

  She hesitated.

  ‘I said, “quickly,”’ repeated Sims. ‘I meant it.’

  ‘Well, no monkey tricks!’ She frowned, and left the room.

  ‘And now bind that idiot and gag him,’ said Sims. ‘Good and tight!’

  22

  The Binding of Ben

  Sims had once charged the third officer with lack of subtlety. He was himself a master of the art, and it was largely due to his realisation of this fact that he often permitted himself the luxury of the cat playing with a mouse. He enjoyed long speeches, when he knew the end of them. He enjoyed toying with time when there did not appear much time to toy with. He enjoyed the impatience and anxieties of lesser men. Perhaps his only weakness lay in this indulgence, with its ever-present danger of excess. Perhaps, being an adventurer as well as a criminal (it is the combination that makes for genius in the underworld), he knew of the weakness, and derived a certain thrill from the very danger it imposed.

  His subtlety during the conference now ended was proved by its conclusion. He had laid his plans and set his stage exactly as he required. He had egged his second lieutenants to the edge of rebellion, and had delayed them with his revolver. Now, substituting astuteness for force, he had quelled them by throwing limelight on a common enemy. The order to bind Ben was a master move.

  He did not even stay to see it done. He went upstairs to lock the other members of the party in. After all, provided Greene and Faggis carried out his instructions, which seemed reasonable enough in general if not entirely so in detail, was he not showing his confidence in them, and leaving them alone?

  The sense of this argument drifted through the minds of Greene and Faggis as the door of the parlour cl
osed and as Sims’s footsteps were heard ascending wooden stairs to the floor above. It became even more apparent as they looked at Ben, whose mouth was still gaping with the unpleasant news he had just heard. Here was the definite victim! Why not cease to regard themselves as such?

  ‘Well?’ said the third officer.

  Faggis nodded.

  ‘Let’s get on with it,’ he replied. ‘Where’s some rope?’

  Then Ben found his voice.

  ‘Tie me hup, is it?’ he cried. ‘Jest you come near me, if yer wants a wollup!’

  He sprang away as he spoke. The spring took him back to a chair. He swung round and lunged at it. It went down for the count.

  ‘Did you ever see such a damned fool!’ grinned Greene.

  ‘Some farmer ought to buy him for a windmill,’ grinned Faggis.

  Ben’s arms were revolving sixty to the minute. The chair was hors de combat, but he was still fighting it.

  ‘Yus, you come near the windmill!’ he roared, now swinging back to the more upright enemy. ‘And see wot yer’ll git!’

  ‘Do you know, I think I will,’ said Greene.

  He came near, and he got it. The windmill whirled forward upon him, and he staggered to the ground.

  ‘Peel the blighter off me!’ he cried, amazed and indignant. ‘He’s biting!’

  Ben felt himself peeled off, and hung limp in the encircling arms of Faggis. But the third officer’s hand was bleeding. There was still a little savour left in life.

  ‘Would you believe it!’ fumed Greene, rising.

  ‘Yes, I would,’ laughed Faggis, ‘because he bit me in just the same way on London docks! Hey, keep clear of his legs—they’re beginning to go round now!’

  Greene drew away, then approached gingerly. He seized the revolving legs, and Ben was pinioned at all his moveable points. A moment later he felt his belt being slipped from his middle. Its tightness evaporated, to reappear again a few inches higher up in a slightly larger circumference, this time including his two arms.

  ‘Well, there’s a dirty trick!’ he thought. ‘This is the larst belt I’ll ever wear! Yer can bust braces!’

  Next, his feet. They found a bit of rope from somewhere. They tied him with it to the chair he had maltreated, and stuck him in a corner. Then they stood away from him and regarded him.