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Title: The lazy detective

Author: George Dilnot

Release date: March 1, 2025 [eBook #75493]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1927

Credits: Tim Miller, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAZY DETECTIVE ***





                          THE LAZY DETECTIVE

                           BY GEORGE DILNOT

           Author of "The Crime Club," "Scotland Yard," etc.

                          Boston and New York
                       Houghton Mifflin Company
                                 1927

                       Printed in Great Britain.




                               CONTENTS


                               CHAPTER I

                               CHAPTER II

                               CHAPTER III

                               CHAPTER IV

                               CHAPTER V

                               CHAPTER VI

                               CHAPTER VII

                               CHAPTER VIII

                               CHAPTER IX

                               CHAPTER X

                               CHAPTER XI

                               CHAPTER XII

                               CHAPTER XIII

                               CHAPTER XIV

                               CHAPTER XV

                               CHAPTER XVI

                               CHAPTER XVII

                               CHAPTER XVIII

                               CHAPTER XIX

                               CHAPTER XX

                               CHAPTER XXI

                               CHAPTER XXII

                               CHAPTER XXIII

                               CHAPTER XXIV

                               CHAPTER XXV

                               CHAPTER XXVI

                               CHAPTER XXVII

                               CHAPTER XXVIII

                               CHAPTER XXIX

                               CHAPTER XXX




                          THE LAZY DETECTIVE




                               CHAPTER I


"And remember, Labar, you don't bluff me." The Chief Constable, who had
been through the game himself, tapped the string of figures that lay
upon his desk with an aggressive forefinger. "You're lazy--damned lazy.
If things don't clear up in your division in the next month or so you
can count on something happening. That's all. Think it over."

"Thank you, sir," said the other, with the smooth suavity of a man who
had received a compliment, and swung on velvet toes from the room.

After all, what was the use of arguing? Divisional Detective Inspector
Labar was under no illusions about himself. He _was_ lazy. All
Scotland Yard knew it. Particularly did Winter, Chief Constable of the
Criminal Investigation Department know it, for in some sort Labar was a
_protégé_ of his. Yet that shrewd old veteran reckoned that even
the quality of indolence had its uses. It could make a brilliant man
concentrate fiercely on his work, in order to save time for his own
purposes. The amount of time taken by a detective on an individual job
is largely a matter on which his superiors must accept his word. Some
men slog laboriously, while others get their results quickly. In minor
positions there is always someone around to see that the work is done.

All this, however, does not apply in the same degree to a detective
inspector. Such a one gives, more often than he receives, orders. As an
executive Labar felt himself a failure. Well, well, a man must have a
little time for golf.

A heavy hand fell with mathematical accuracy between his shoulder
blades, and he flung round with a delicate shudder.

"One of these days, Moreland, someone's going to slap you hard on the
wrist, slog you on the jaw, and kick you where it hurts most. You're
too boisterous for the society of gentlemen."

Moreland, of the Flying Squad, grinned cheerfully. "Behold the infant
phenomenon of Grape Street, as the apostle of gloom," he said, walking
round Labar with mock awe. "Behold his shiny boots and well-creased
trousers, and mark his creased forehead and frowning countenance. No,
don't speak. Let me apply my well-known powers of deduction." He put
his hand to his brow. "He has--yes he has been on the carpet."

A slow rueful smile broke on Labar's face. "You guessed it," he said.
"If you want promotion there's the job of divisional inspector at
Grape Street liable to be vacant some time. Better write out your
application."

Moreland's levity vanished. "The old man's bitten you as bad as that?
Cheer up, and pull yourself together. Come and tell papa all about it."
He pulled Labar into an adjoining room, adjusted himself on a tall
stool and lit a pipe. "Shoot," he ordered.

Harry Labar shrugged his shoulders. "There's nothing to it," he
declared. "Winter says things are too loose in the division. I've got
to tighten them up, or----"

"The shelf, eh?" Moreland eyed his friend whimsically. "That'll be
a new record for you. The youngest man to be promoted divisional
inspector, and the youngest divisional inspector to retire. Well, why
don't you tighten them up?"

"Blah, all blah. Easy talk. Look here, Moreland, my percentages of
unsolved crime are up--but you know why. Curse it all, Winter knows as
well as I do that Larry Hughes is operating in my district. No one, not
even the old man himself, has ever pinned anything to Larry. I'm to be
the goat. Why didn't they give me an easy division when they promoted
me, instead of the wealthiest in London, infested by all the slickest
crooks in the world? What right has the old man to be sore at me?"

Moreland slid from his stool and put a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Listen to me, Harry. They gave you the job because they thought you
could do it. To blazes with your golf handicap. Now you go and take a
pill and get on with it." He pushed the other gently from the room.

To few other men than Moreland would Labar have confided his troubles.
He passed swiftly out of the little back door from the C.I.D.
headquarters, dodging the Assistant Commissioner with some skill, for
he felt that that official might be no less emphatic, if more urbane,
than the Chief Constable on the state of crime in the West End.

His mind was focussed upon Larry Hughes. Larry was a gentleman who had
never been in a criminal court in his life--a sleek, cultivated man
about town, with a taste in literature and art, and enough money to run
his own steam yacht and a racing stud. His life was apparently open
to the world, his character to all seeming flawless, impeccable. Any
head-strong police officer who had ventured to put a public slur on
Larry's character, by hauling him to a dungeon cell, would have very
promptly found himself with a suit for heavy damages on his hands.

Yet to Labar, as to many men in the police circles of the world, it was
certain knowledge that Larry Hughes was the most adroit and intelligent
crime organiser in London, or for the matter of that anywhere. It was
certain but utterly unprovable.

There are half a dozen men in London, another half a dozen in New
York, three in Paris, a couple in Amsterdam, and a few more knocking
about other capitals of the world, who run crime on the principles
of big business. Through many intermediaries there filters to them
much knowledge which they have the means to turn to profit. These are
eclectic in their enterprises, but in general they are receivers. They
will organise and finance a burglary, a forgery, or a hold-up, but they
keep well in the background. The casual thief has never heard of them;
even the big professional crook frequently has only a dim conception
of their identity. The loot never reaches them in any tangible and
identifiable shape. They have their agents, and their tools, and many
of them die in an atmosphere of eminent respectability.

Among this class the most audacious, the most ingenious, was Larry
Hughes. Labar had little doubt that, if one really got to the bottom
of things in his division, half the professional crime would have
shown Larry's finger in the pie. Either Larry must lay off of his own
volition--an unlikely event--or some method must be found of putting a
spoke in his wheel. Harry Labar did not avoid the feeling that the task
was likely to prove a man's size job.

He had reached Cockspur Street when the thing happened. Even if his
mind had been less preoccupied, it is likely that he would have failed
to notice the big touring car that edged itself through the traffic
towards him. Not until it had swept close to the kerb, and he saw
the girl leaning from the near side, did he realise that it held any
significance for him. A wisp of fair hair had fallen over her forehead,
and she brushed it back with a slim gloved hand. Harry Labar, although
his colleagues held him doomed to bachelordom, had an eye for a pretty
girl and he noticed her with subconscious approval as the car drew near.

Almost mechanically it dawned on him that her hand was stretched to him
from the now slowly moving car.

"For you," said the girl, and a letter waved on a level with his eyes.
As he reached to take it, the car leapt away like a living thing, with
a rapidity that told of perfect acceleration and steel nerves at the
wheel.

"Hey!"

The detective was aroused from his reverie on the instant. He sprang
forward with a command to stop, that, even as he uttered it, he knew
to be futile. The car was well away. It was vain to hope to stop it,
and the speed at which it was moving showed it improbable that any taxi
could overtake it, even had there been one near.

With a habit ingrained by years of training he took a pencil from his
pocket and made a note of the number. Then, with a philosophic shrug of
his shoulders, he slit the blank envelope that he held, and glanced at
its contents. A Bank of England note for a hundred pounds lay in his
hand. He inspected the envelope again, and threw an eye around to make
sure that nothing had been dropped. There was nothing. Just a hundred
pound note in a blank envelope.

"Well I'm damned," determined Detective Inspector Labar.

The method rather than the event had startled him. Although one hundred
pound notes do not descend on detective inspectors every day of the
week, there are philanthropists who attempt at times to impose money on
police officers. It was a bribe of course. But the touch of melodrama
was amateurish and clumsy. The most illiterate crook in London should
have known that a hundred pound note was ridiculously easy to trace.
The whole thing was raw. It was just possible that the car had a
false number, but leaving that aside he would remember the girl. Yes,
decidedly he would remember the girl.

He felt reasonably certain that in the normal course of events he
would know more about it during the day. Without undue speculation,
therefore, he betook himself to Grape Street, where, in the stiffly
furnished room that formed the headquarters of the divisional detective
force, he summoned one of his satellites and passed the note on.

"Find out what hands that note has been in," he ordered. "And while
you're about it, m'lad, slip down and discover who owns a car numbered
X20008. Take a note of that number. If I'm not here when you're
through, leave a message for me."

With that off his mind, he shed his coat, and was about to immerse
himself in the official routine correspondence that was the bane of his
life, when there was a jangle of telephone bells, and a hearty-looking,
ruddy-cheeked man engaged in converse that brought a fresher purple
sheen to his face. He put down the receiver with an oath.

"Wish you wouldn't swear, Bill," said Labar, petulantly. "It jars on
me."

It was at such a time that Detective Sergeant Malone, presuming on many
years association, was wont to observe that he was no kid glove John.
But at the moment he was too moved for remonstrance.

"We've struck it, guv'nor," he declared huskily. "This has put the tin
hat on it this has."

Labar lit a cigarette wearily. "Tell me the worst," he said.

"They've made a clean sweep of Streetly House. Old Gertstein's foaming
at the mouth. Quarter of a million of pounds worth of jewels and curios
melted away as clean as a conjuring trick. I could smell Larry Hughes a
thousand miles off in this." His tone was gloomy, for he knew something
of Labar's troubles. "Nice look-out for us, an' the Yard not throwing
any flowers our way as it is."

"You said it, Bill," agreed Labar, rising, and pulling down his shirt
sleeves. "It's get on or get out, for me at any rate, this time. Get
your hat on and tell 'em to ring through to the Chief. We're liable to
have some work to do."




                              CHAPTER II


Anyone who could afford to live in Streetly House, that imposing and
historic residence just off Park Lane, must by that fact alone, be
known in some degree to the public. Mr. Solly Gertstein had added
claims to a certain amount of limelight. He had been--was still to some
extent--a financial power. He had interests in gold, in diamonds, in
oil, but of late years he had relinquished the reins of his enterprises
to brothers and cousins, while he concentrated on his ambition to get
together a unique, and fabulously costly, collection of gems, and what
the dealers call _objets d'art_.

He was not an artistic object in himself. A rotund little man, with a
gait that somehow suggested a milk can rolled by a railway porter, and
with a tendency to pomposity in his speech and manner, he yet contrived
to hold some poise of dignity. He was unquestionably excited when Labar
introduced himself.

"So you 'ave come." In moments of stress he was apt to lose his usual
meticulous command of the English language. "You 'ave come at last."

"It is less than ten minutes since I got your message," observed the
inspector.

"Ach!" Mr. Gertstein flung his hands wide in an expressive gesture,
as of one who accepts an excuse in which there is no body. He rotated
round the room, buzzing like an agitated wasp. "An hour. Dis is what
I pay for," he proclaimed. "For dis I pay my thousands a year to the
rates for police salaries. What protection do I get for it? None." He
waved a podgy hand. "All the work of the finest craftsmen in the world
stripped from me. You will get it back, eh?"

Labar felt that it was only the vulgarity of the expression that
prevented Gertstein from adding, "I don't think." He lifted his
eyebrows.

"You are insured?"

The other gave an impatient snort. "Insured! What is insurance to me?
Do you think that I--Gertstein--want the money? That--poof--a fleabite.
The insurance companies will pay, but will that help me to get back all
my beautiful things? Years and years of work gone like dat." He snapped
his fingers viciously.

"We'll do our best," said Labar, mildly. "Perhaps you will walk round
with me and tell me all you know."

In his mind he felt small hope. The very magnitude of the crime showed
it to be the work of men who thoroughly understood their business.
Jewels would be dismounted and cut up, gold melted down, and other
things rendered unrecognisable in the swiftest and most efficient
fashion.

Other of the C.I.D. men from Labar's division were in the house by this
time, and under his supervision a systematic and thorough search of the
premises proceeded. It was a big rambling place, and it was obvious
that the thieves, once they had obtained entrance, would have had no
difficulty in secreting themselves till such time as they could work
unobserved. As Labar expected, every burglar alarm in the place had
been cut or put out of action in some way. The thieves must have gained
precise information beforehand.

On the first floor two magnificent rooms had been given up to the
display of Gertstein's treasures. The chastely-designed glass cases
still stood in their imposing splendour, but alas, they were mere
cenotaphs with their treasures vanished. At a superficial glance,
indeed, it was difficult to realise that they had been tampered with,
so delicate had been the skill with which they had been opened.

As Gertstein pointed out with some bitterness, the marauders had
selected their spoil with the most consummate judgment. It was obvious
that the raid had been carried through to clean-cut specifications.
There were many dainty bits of artistry left, but they were such things
as enamels, ivory carvings and the like, which had value only for
their craftsmanship, and would be difficult to dispose of intact.

Nor was there evident any indication of the manner in which entry to
the house had been gained, or the method by which the thieves had
left. The windows and doors were unmarked. Not a bolt or lock had been
forced. Throughout the night no suspicious noises had been heard, and
it was only when in the course of ordinary routine that a maid had
entered one of the exhibition rooms, at eleven o'clock in the morning,
that the robbery had been discovered.

"Not so much as a blighting finger-print," Bill Malone observed, and at
the finish of a meticulous examination of the windows, added that it
was the smoothest bust that he had ever run across in the course of his
carmined career.

But a mystery may be too mysterious, too faultily faultless. Any
defect, any lapse on the part of the thieves might have left the police
even more in the air. As it was, there remained little doubt in the
minds of the detectives that their first surmise was right--that they
could breathe in a word the name of the supreme culprit--but much doubt
as to the possibility of acquiring evidence to run him down. The men
who could plan or carry out such an undertaking were few.

Malone put it into words. "This has got the hall-mark of Larry,
guv'nor."

Labar crinkled his brows, and nodded absently. The man who tackled
this job would have in front of him a spasm of tough work, that in
all probability would end in defeat by running his head against a
brick wall. "Yes," he agreed. "It's got all that. Our friend Larry is
certainly indicated, but we must not let ourselves be hypnotised about
him. There's a bet you've overlooked, Bill."

"An inside job."

"It might be either--or both," said Labar, and turned with
imperturbable face, that masked more than slight worry, to confront the
shrewd beady eyes of Mr. Gertstein.

"What do you think now?" demanded the millionaire.

The inspector smoothed his chin. "I hate to make up my mind right away,
Mr. Gertstein, but I'd be willing to make one guess at the man who
knows all about this."

"So!" Gertstein rubbed his hands. "Then you have found out something.
You have a clue. I'm a generous man, Inspector. If you get back those
things I will treat you well. It will be worth--what--a thousand pounds
to you."

"That's handsome of you, sir. But even if I was allowed to take a
reward--which I couldn't do without the consent of the Yard--I wouldn't
be too sure of getting it. As I say, I could give a guess about this
business, but guesses don't carry us far. There isn't a shred of proof
yet, and I tell you frankly I wouldn't gamble a half-penny on getting
the men or getting the stuff."

"But you--you're a detective." Gertstein tugged impatiently at his
little beard. "If you know what you say it should be easy."

"Easy, sir. Yes, it should be easy." Labar permitted a sardonic note to
creep into his voice. "About as easy as taking treacle from a bear's
mouth. I'm a detective, not a miracle worker."

Detectives after all, are very like other human beings. Labar was
concerned at the back of his mind with the reaction this robbery might
have upon his own personal affairs. He was not in good odour with his
chiefs. True, he was the divisional inspector, and the burglary had
taken place on his ground, but it was odds that some of the mandarins
at the Yard would take the investigation out of his hands and place
it in those of a chief inspector from headquarters. That, in the
ordinary course of events would not be any slight, and Labar, with his
constitutional indolence would have been glad to be relieved of any
responsibility.

But in present circumstances it would wear an ominous air. He was young
for the post he had reached, and there were many years in front of him
before he would be eligible for a pension. He had attained a stage
where all violent ambition had vanished, but still it would be galling
to be put on the shelf.

His agitation of mind was disclosed by the fact that he had betrayed
his hopelessness to Gertstein--a breach of professional etiquette as
rank as that of a doctor who tells a patient that he is dying. He tried
to efface the impression he had created by a laugh.

"We find it best to be a little pessimistic in our business, Mr.
Gertstein. Then if things come off we get a bit more credit. Don't you
worry. We'll do our best if only for our own sakes."

"You'd better," said Gertstein, grimly. "Don't forget that I can use a
pull if I like, that would make the entire Metropolitan Police sit up."

Labar smiled serenely as though the threat had no meaning for him.
Yet he did not believe it altogether an empty one. Gertstein, with
his money and his affiliations, could probably do wicked damage to an
obscure detective inspector if he chose to pull strings. That momentary
tactlessness looked as if it might bring retribution.

The arrival of the Assistant Commissioner and the Chief Constable
of the C.I.D., accompanied by Labar's immediate superior, Detective
Superintendent Marlow--one of that select company the newspapers loved
to refer to as the "Big Four"--broke into the conversation.

Gertstein shook hands with the three. "I hope you won't agree with your
inspector that the case is hopeless--that I shall never see any of my
beautiful things back," he said sourly.

Winter shot a swift glance at Labar, who straightened his back with a
brave attempt at nonchalance. It was the Assistant Commissioner who
answered.

"Nothing is ever hopeless, Mr. Gertstein. I am sure that you have
misapprehended Mr. Labar's views."

The millionaire made a gesture of dissent. "I am not so big a fool as
that," he retorted.

Now the head of the Criminal Investigation Department could see as far
through a brick wall as most people. He would always assert that he was
not a detective--that he had men on his staff who knew the game, and he
was content to leave detective work to them. But he did know men. It
was said that he could charm a bird from a tree.

He linked his arm through Gertstein's and drew him aside. "I would like
to have a little talk with you alone. Perhaps I can straighten out
things. You people go and have a look round."

As Labar led the other two away Winter turned fiercely upon him. "What
have you said to the old boy?" he demanded.

"He got it pretty nearly straight, sir," admitted the inspector. "I
told him that it was long odds against getting the stuff back."

"You ought to be in the infant class," snorted Winter. "Now what
about----"

The conference usual in such circumstances began. Presently the
Assistant Commissioner rejoined them. As they moved about the house
the inspector imparted to them such facts as he knew, and, though his
face showed nothing, he waited with the eagerness of a boy for some
hint as to whether he was to be left to deal with the affair. But his
superiors did not commit themselves, and he was relieved when they took
their departure.

He got down to the work in hand. There was plenty to occupy him, for
every person in the house had to be interviewed. As Winter dryly
observed to his companions on his way back to the Yard, Labar could
work like a fiend when he had some incentive.




                              CHAPTER III


Lacking any more definite line at the moment, Labar felt impelled
to the theory that there had been collusion between the thieves and
someone in the house. That at least furnished a working hypothesis
which might be abandoned according to circumstances. It was for this
reason that he doggedly set himself to interview all and sundry instead
of leaving his assistants to weed them out.

With the shrewd suavity of an Old Bailey lawyer he examined and
cross-examined, an obese shorthand writer at his elbow, until he had a
complete surface knowledge, at any rate, of the movements of everyone
in the house for the last twenty-four hours, and much information of
their antecedents and habits. Superficially, he had to admit, as he
stretched himself with a yawn some hours later, there was no one he
could suspect. Perhaps, in the future, when the statements had been
checked up, some hint might develop. But he did not bank on that.
Frequently this kind of tedious work resulted in nothing, although it
was always possible that some vitally important fact might arise.

Then the last person on his list entered the room. She was described as
Miss Penelope Noelson, companion to Mrs. Gertstein.

She was a girl of perhaps twenty-two, not tall, but exquisitely
proportioned. Fair hair surmounted a vivacious face, which was relieved
of the insipidity of mere beauty by a determined chin, a humorous touch
that lurked about the corners of her mouth, and a nose very slightly
inclined to what her friends described as _retroussé_, but which
she herself bluntly declared to be snub. On the whole she was such a
girl as might make a man turn to take another look--a girl not so much
beautiful as piquantly pretty.

At the instant of her entrance Labar was engaged with his well-fed
stenographer. She had reached the table he was using, and one hand
rested lightly upon it, ere he was able to give her any attention.

"Won't you sit down? Excuse me for one moment, will you?" he said,
without lifting his eyes from the paper he was scrutinising, as he
leaned over the shorthand writer, his finger following a phrase.
"That's it. 'Mr. Vintner, the butler and myself always look round the
house the last thing at night to make sure that the fastenings are safe
and the burglar alarms in order. We always do it even if we know that
Mr. Gertstein or his secretary has----'"

She studied Labar with some interest. He bore no obvious trace of his
profession--no good detective ever does. He was a clean-cut specimen
of the ordinary business man. He was youngish-looking, perhaps thirty
or thereabouts, and his voice was that of a cultivated man. In the
neighbourhood of six feet tall, his well-tailored suit could not
conceal the broad shoulders and lean flanks of a man used to athletic
exercises. There was a suspicion of aggression in his chin she thought.
He looked efficient and he had poise.

Then he glanced up and his eyes met hers squarely. A flicker, it might
have been of astonishment, crossed his face, only to be instantly
suppressed. She met his look with sedate indifference, and two little
vertical lines wrinkled his brow as he studied her. Suddenly his face
cleared. He smiled--the frank, open smile of a boy.

"I'll take any statement from this lady, myself, Green," he said. "You
get back to the station and get on with your transcription. I want that
all through by to-night."

The fat stenographer collected his papers and left. Labar's fingers
fiddled idly on the table. "You are Miss Noelson?" he asked.

She nodded. "That is my name."

"I understand that you have been away to Hampshire with Mrs. Gertstein,
and only returned this morning."

In his formal wearied tone she was quick to catch something--it might
have been imagination, or again it might have been intuition--the
slightest inflection of menace. "I got back by car this morning--yes.
There were certain shopping errands that Mrs. Gertstein wished me to
do."

"Huh. So it is not likely that you can help us much with this?"

The girl spread her hands in an eloquent gesture of dissent. He noticed
that she wore no rings. "It is an absolute mystery to me--a mystery and
a very great shock."

"Yes, of course. It would be a shock," he returned as one engaging in
polite conversation only to pass the time. "How long have you been with
Mrs. Gertstein?"

"About six or seven months."

"That all? Did you know the Gertstein people well before?"

"As a matter of fact I have known Mrs. Gertstein all my life. She is
a sort of distant relative of mine and very much younger than her
husband. We were at school together. I can see what you're driving at,
Mr. Labar," she proceeded. "My father, who was a civil servant, died
just over a year ago, leaving me a small, a very small, income. My
mother has been dead for many years. I struggled along for some months,
but I am afraid that I am one of those persons who need something
more than a bread and butter existence. So when Adèle--that's Mrs.
Gertstein--offered me this position, I took it. I'm well paid for the
little I do and live in a style that I could not otherwise afford."

"Thank you. Do you mind if I smoke?" He lit a cigarette with elaborate
care and leaned one elbow casually on the table. "I suppose you know
that you are a very pretty girl." A whimsical smile overspread his
face, and he held out a protesting hand as she half rose from her seat.
"Don't misunderstand me, please. It is an unfortunate necessity of my
business to ask delicate questions sometimes. You are not engaged I
see. But is there anyone----?" He raised his eyebrows ever so little.

Penelope dropped back into her chair with a laugh. "I feared for a
moment you were trying to flirt with me. That would be ridiculous,
wouldn't it? No, Mr. Labar, I assure you that I have no interest in any
man or men that way."

"I can conceive that men might be interested in you," he smiled. "Now
one more personal question. Like most ladies you have little personal
extravagances that you like to indulge, eh?"

She flushed and pouted a little. "I don't know that I'm so enormously
extravagant. I'm fond of pretty things, and I have them within my
means."

"Always?" He leaned forward, and spoke the word very quietly. "You
don't--ah--run into debt?"

She swept angrily to her feet. "You are insulting," she declared.
"I can't misunderstand you. You suggest that I am mixed up in this
robbery."

"Sit down!" he ordered, sternly. There was no mistaking the menace in
his voice now. The girl ignored the command and remained with set face,
her gaze meeting his in angry defiance. For a matter of seconds they
remained thus, their wills clashing for supremacy. With deliberation
he rose, and towering over her, pointed to her chair. "Sit down," he
repeated sternly, and as though under some dominating spell, she slowly
obeyed.

He remained on his feet. "I have made no accusation against you, Miss
Noelson, and you can answer me or not as you please. It will simplify
my work if you answer, but bear in mind that I have other means of
getting information."

He noted that the wave of angry colour, which had suffused her face,
had died down, leaving her with a touch of pallor. But she was holding
herself steadily in hand, and had all her self-possession.

"In that event," she returned, icily, "you had better apply to those
other sources of information."

Labar was studying her with a cold scrutiny, weighing her words and her
demeanour with infinite calculation. He was alight with suspicion, but
somehow he felt reluctant to press this dainty little creature with the
cold official catechism that was in his mind. This was the man whom of
all others, in spite of certain mild flirtations, Scotland Yard would
have held immune from feminine influence. He pulled himself together.
The work had to be done.

"Let's be sensible," he urged. "Now tell me, have you ever heard of a
man called Larry Hughes?"

That was a shot in the dark. He had little doubt what the answer would
be.

Penelope Noelson's lips came together in a thin, obstinate line. "No,"
she snapped.

The detective gave no sign that he had heard her. He moved aimlessly to
the small table he had been using and bent over a paper. She stood up
with a little petulant shrug of her shoulders, and was half-way to the
door before he spoke again.

"Oh, by the way, there is another small matter. Why did you give me a
hundred pound note this morning?"

Her eyes widened, and as she wheeled to face him her hands groped for
the support of a chair.

"I gave you a hundred pound note? Why, I never saw you before in my
life."

He leaned grimly towards her. "You're very nearly a convincing little
liar. I recognised you the instant you came in the room. I'm calling
your bluff, my girl. Now then. Suppose you come clean."

For a second she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Then she slumped to
the floor in a dead faint.




                              CHAPTER IV


Labar was a little uncertain of the value of his hand. Therefore, he
hesitated to disclose his cards fully to Solly Gertstein, the more so
as that gentleman at almost the first word declared his implicit faith
in Miss Noelson. It was at that moment that the detective came almost
near to liking the pompous little man.

All that the millionaire knew was that Labar had become suspicious
while questioning the girl, and that she had fainted when the
interrogation was closely pressed. Gertstein did not conceal his
opinion that only a fool could suspect her. It was unthinkable that she
could have anything to do with the robbery. She was as straight as a
die.

Now, although the divisional inspector liked this attitude on the part
of Gertstein, it failed utterly to convince him. In fact, his own view
of the situation might have been deduced from the fact that when he had
summoned a maid to help Penelope to her room, he had also given private
instructions to one of his staff to keep as close an eye upon her as
circumstances would permit. There was no telling what she might do if
she was really frightened.

Of one thing Labar was sure. Momentary though his glimpse of the girl
in the car had been, he had no doubt that it was Penelope Noelson. He
did not make that kind of mistake. Of course, coincidences do happen.
But those trained in the school of Scotland Yard are sceptical about
coincidence. It was asking too much to suppose that the singular
episode of the morning was entirely unassociated with the raid. It
was but a question of how deeply the girl was involved. Was she an
accomplice or merely a tool? She was not a professional thief. That
much was certain. Why had she tried to bribe him? If Larry Hughes was
at the bottom of the business--and he felt as certain of that as that
the sun would rise and set--in what way were the girl and he associated?

With these questions stirring in his mind, he decided that it would
be unwise to make any hasty move. There was, in fact, nothing very
definite to act upon. He had debated with himself whether he ought to
detain Penelope. He had small fear that she would get away from the
surveillance he had placed upon her, but she might gum up the trail a
bit. To hold her in present circumstances would, perhaps, be considered
a little bit arbitrary, and anyway, Gertstein might kick up a fuss. It
was quite simple to keep an eye upon her until the ground under foot
was a little more solid.

So he made his way back to Grape Street. His emissaries were scouring
London, and their reports had to be collated--whether for his own use
or for the man who might be detached from headquarters, was on the lap
of the gods.

He considered as he puffed at his cigarette. These reports now--why
should he worry unduly about them if another man was to handle the
case? If it was his own work, of course he would have to do it. But why
worry until he was certain. He put a call through to Scotland Yard.
Winter was more genial than he had been at the early morning interview.

"That you, Labar? How are things making out? You'll have to hump
yourself on this job, my mannie."

That was all right, then. For the time being at any rate he was not to
be superseded on the investigation. That had looked a probability when
the heads had left him to it at Streetly House. This, however, made
certain. He answered cheerfully.

"I'll do my best, sir; I've got hopes."

"Hopes won't carry you far. I've seen hopes land a man in a ditch."

"Oh, I'm not running ahead of myself. As you saw, it's a slick
clean-up, but I've got an idea that if Larry's in it he's made a break
this time."

"H'm. Other men have thought that," grunted the telephone,
sceptically. "If there's a hole in this it's not like friend Larry. So
don't go running away with any hasty impressions, my boy. And listen, I
don't want to know too much--especially over the 'phone. You and I will
have a talk some time. G'bye."

"The cunning old fox," murmured Labar, with almost affectionate
admiration, as he replaced the receiver. "He doesn't want to know too
much. That means I'm to be the goat if things don't pan out."

He ripped open a letter that lay upon his desk.

    "SIR,--In accordance with your instructions, I made
    inquiries at the Bank of England, and was informed that the note
    No. K002947 was one of a series issued to the Midland Bank a week
    ago. From the Midland Bank I learn that this was one of ten notes
    numbered consecutively K002946 to K002955, paid to honour a cheque
    drawn by Mr. S. Gertstein, of Streetly House, W., three days ago.
    On inquiry at the London County Council Record Department I was
    informed that the registration number, X20008, is that of a car
    belonging to the same person.

                                                     "Yours faithfully,
                                                         "J. S. BYRON."

He laid down the note absently. "I was afraid so. A nice girl, too.
Well, nice girls do go wrong. Let's see what Gertstein has to say
about it."

He reached for the telephone and got put through to Streetly House. A
matter of minutes elapsed before he was in touch with the millionaire,
and he drummed impatiently on his desk. At last an irritable voice
reached him.

Labar spoke silkily. "Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Gertstein. This is
Labar speaking--Detective Inspector Labar. In the list of stuff stolen
there is no mention of cash. Is there any money missing?"

"If there had been I should have told you, Inspector," snapped
Gertstein.

"This is important. You have not lost any bank notes?"

"I've told you, no. I never keep enough cash in the house to bother
about."

A smothered exclamation escaped Labar. "But," he urged, "you changed a
cheque for a thousand pounds a day or two ago."

"I did nothing of the sort," snorted Gertstein. "What thing are you
dreaming about now? I haven't had a thousand pounds in cash for my own
personal use for years."

"Ah, well," said Labar, mildly. "Perhaps I've made a mistake. I'll hope
to see you in the morning and explain. Good-bye."

Detectives of Scotland Yard have more use for bowler hats than for
halos. Whatever the writers may make of them they have few illusions
about themselves. They are very much of the same clay as human beings
in less glamorous callings. Labar was no conjuror, and an odd sequence
of facts bore to him just as great an appearance of mystery as it would
to any other professional man. He swore crisply between his teeth,
as Mr. Thingumbob, the eminent collar merchant, might have sworn had
he found a competitor selling neckwear below the cost of production.
For in these cases the problem that confronts the detective and the
ordinary business man is in essence the same. They each have to ask
themselves why. And if they get the correct answer they have scored a
point. If they are wrong the business man is hit in the bank balance,
and the newspapers attend to Scotland Yard. The bank believed that it
had let Gertstein have ten one hundred pound notes, and one of these
had reached Labar through a member of Gertstein's household. Yet the
millionaire denied that he had had that cheque cashed. It was entirely
improbable that he could have any motive for lying. On the face of it
someone had forged his signature, and so introduced the complication of
an additional crime.

It was certainly necessary to have a talk with the bank manager. Labar
summoned Malone and gave him a rough outline of the situation. The
bank would be closed, of course, but somehow the manager's private
address would have to be found. The big detective sergeant nodded
comprehendingly, and set forth on his mission.

That round of golf which Labar had reckoned upon in the morning was far
away. But his inclination to relaxation had vanished. An investigation
such as he had upon his hands leaves the man in charge with all he can
think about. He was fiercely energetic and his men were being driven
hard. Every few minutes the telephone bells were whirring, and men were
rushing in from various avenues of inquiry with verbal reports.

The net was being cast wide. The usual routine precautions had, of
course, been seen to. Lists of the stolen property had been sent out
to jewellers, pawnbrokers and others, and published broadcast in the
evening papers. That was a ten million to one chance. The goods in this
crime would be got rid of through obscure underground channels.

Labar had thrown two men to shadow Larry Hughes, not hopefully, but as
a matter of precaution. Others were trying to discover if Larry had
been in touch with any of the greater artists in burglary of late.
Then, again on general principles, the movements of every crook who was
big enough in his profession to be possibly involved had to be checked.
Any one of these possessed of sudden funds, any one absent from his
usual haunts, might be a link in the chain that Labar was trying
to establish. Nothing could be taken for granted. Even Gertstein
himself--this would have annoyed him--was having some of his private
habits pried into, and his associates looked up.

The Yard does not despise scientific methods; but here were no
bloodstains, no finger-prints, no trivialities from which a high-domed
scientist in an easy chair might deduce the name and address of the
main culprit. It was a thief taking enterprise in the good old way of
the Bow Street runners, differing only by the use of a more complex
and more perfect organisation. For a young detective inspector of the
Criminal Investigation Department who was under suspicion of slackness
it was decidedly not a day for golf.

Midnight was very near ere Malone returned to Grape Street. After
tracking the manager of the bank to his lair in Golder's Green, he
had dragged him back to the bank, and searched out the thousand pound
cheque, together with two others unquestionably genuine, for the sake
of comparison.

"This fellow knows nothing of the circumstances in which it was
changed," said Malone. "Suppose we'll have to look up the cashier in
the morning on that point."

Labar thrust his hand into a desk drawer and pulled out a magnifying
glass. Placing the suspected cheque and another in front of him he
studied them intently for a few minutes.

"Did he hold any views on whether it was a forgery or not, Bill?" he
asked without looking up.

The other shook his head. "He's a cautious Scot. You see if it is a
forgery the bank will be liable. Didn't want me to bring away the
cheques at first. Someone had been telephoning him to send back all
cancelled cheques to Gertstein early in the morning."

Labar abruptly laid down his magnifying glass and stared at his
aide-de-camp. "Who was that?" he demanded.

A slow grin broke over the usual inexpressive features of Malone. He
had an impish delight in sometimes startling his superior. "I thought
it would interest you, guv'nor," he said. "He didn't know. The voice
was that of a woman, and she said that she was telephoning on behalf of
Gertstein."

"A woman's voice," repeated the inspector, thoughtfully. He uncoiled
his six feet from his chair, and stretched himself. "I'm all in, Bill,"
he announced. "Let's put up the shutters for the night. Nine o'clock
sharp in the morning."

The thing for a man who has spent many hours within four walls, Labar
decided, was a good brisk walk. He parted from Malone under the blue
lamp at the entrance to the police station, and paused to light a
cigarette. He nodded amiably to the constable on reserve duty at
the doorway, and setting his face towards Chelsea where his modest
bachelor apartments were located, swung off briskly down the little
courtyard that leads from Grape Street to Piccadilly.

He had taken not more than a score of strides when some sixth sense
impelled him to whirl upon his heels. In that fraction of a second
he had an impression of a dark figure hurling itself upon him from a
doorway. An instant earlier and he had saved himself. As it was, he
flung up an arm, almost by instinct, and broke the impact of a sandbag.
Nevertheless, he went down half-stunned and feebly grappling with his
opponent.

His bewildered senses were dimly conscious of the dark figure bending
over him, and fingers groping about his pockets. Then the assailant
was gone, and he staggered uncertainly to his feet, supporting himself
against the wall. He felt his head gingerly where the half-broken blow
had taken effect. But his mind was not on his injuries.

"A woman again," he muttered. "What a nerve. Practically on the
doorstep of the police station. She certainly wanted something badly."
He stood for a moment to regain his shaken faculties. "I wonder if it
could have been a cheque?" he asked aloud.

He walked unsteadily back to the station where the brandy retained for
emergencies was called into requisition, and a hasty hue and cry--which
he knew to be hopeless--organised. But all trace of his assailant had
been lost. Nor, for some reason which he could not have satisfactorily
accounted for to himself, did he suggest that the pursuers should take
the direction of Streetly House.




                               CHAPTER V


In silken pyjamas, and propped up on his pillows, Mr. Larry Hughes
toyed with coffee and toast, the while he lazily scanned the _Daily
Mail_ with its account of the Streetly House robbery. A soft-footed
valet was busy in an adjoining dressing-room.

"A light-grey suit, if you please, Tom. And tell Williams to have the
Rolls ready not a minute later than twelve."

"Very good, sir. Will you be in to lunch?"

"I'm doubtful. There's racing on at Kempton, and I may run down."
Hughes pushed aside the tray and sprang lightly out of bed. "Bath
ready?"

"Quite ready, sir."

"All right. Be back in ten minutes."

It was at this moment that Detective Inspector Labar rang the bell at
the solid Georgian doorway of Mr. Larry Hughes' Hampstead home. With
suave candour the footman who opened the door, informed him of the
exact position. Mr. Hughes was in his bath. If the gentleman would
care to wait he would find out in due course whether Mr. Hughes would
see him. Was the gentleman a friend, or if not was his business of
extreme urgency? Mr. Hughes, he knew, had several important engagements.

Labar thrust a card into the man's hand. "Tell him I shall be glad if
he will spare me a few minutes of his time. It is of importance."

A little doubtfully the servant took the card. So the detective
found himself in a big leather chair in a spacious and well-lighted
library. All the surroundings spoke of money lavished recklessly, but
with scrupulous taste. The lines of books were broken by etchings and
occasional paintings that Labar recognised as the finest of their kind.
But as he slowly and methodically studied the room, his attention
became rivetted on a small photograph that stood obscurely on a
mantel-piece. He moved towards it and picked it up for closer scrutiny.
Then he did a thing which a C.I.D. man should have realised was pure
and simple theft. He placed it carefully in an inside pocket.

Hughes found him in the big leather chair, idly nursing his hat and
stick, and came forward with outstretched hand.

"It's Mr. Labar, isn't it. Pleased to meet you. I'm not often honoured
by visits from detective inspectors. What can I do for you?"

He drew up another divan chair and faced Labar idly attentive. He was
Mr. Larry Hughes, gentleman of means, and Labar was a mere policeman
in plain clothes. The suggestion was subtle but plain.

Both men knew how artificial the situation was. It was clear to Larry
that the other had come to look him over, but whatever the detective
inspector suspected he dare not yet shatter the pose. Labar knew that
he was a crook, and Hughes knew that he knew. Yet the latter was
supremely confident that no one dare breathe the word. What proof could
there be?

Labar for the time was quite willing to play the part the other had
allotted to him. "I'm not quite sure, Mr. Hughes," he said with a hint
of deference in his tone. "I've come to see you because I believe you
have some acquaintance with Mr. Gertstein. You will have seen in the
papers that there has been a robbery at his place."

Larry raised his eyebrows and struggled with well-manicured fingers
to affix a cigarette in a long amber holder. "I'm afraid you've come
to the wrong shop, Mr. Labar. I know the old boy by sight but I've
scarcely spoken to him. True, I believe I was introduced to Mrs.
Gertstein once--I think it was at Ascot--but that's the limit of my
knowledge of the family."

"I'm looking up everyone who might by some remote chance throw some
light on the affair," explained Labar.

"Quite." Hughes was listlessly polite.

"You are not acquainted with anyone associated with the Gertstein's? A
Miss Noelson, for instance?"

However a man may use himself to mask his emotions, there is usually
some point, as experienced poker players know, at which he betrays
himself. Not infrequently, though his face may be immobile, some
nervous twitch of the hands, some apparently small mannerism, will
reveal itself to the one competent to read.

Larry showed nothing in his face, but his right toe tapped nervously on
the soft carpet. Labar marked that movement.

"I've never heard of the lady," said Larry easily, and rising, strolled
to the mantel, and placed one arm upon it. His equanimity was to all
seeming undisturbed.

Labar smiled, grimly. "Don't waste your time standing. It was an
oversight to leave the photograph there, if you meant to deny that you
knew this lady. I have the portrait in my pocket."

The right toe tapped a quick tattoo, and Larry eyed the other
whimsically. He thrust up his hands. "Kamerad," he cried. "I have heard
of the efficiency of Scotland Yard. Now I see it. The merest little
white lie, and you pounce, Mr. Labar. I do know Miss Noelson--slightly.
I hope to know her better. There's an admission for you. Can you build
something on that? Do you think that she stole the jewels, or did I?"

He smiled superciliously down on the detective, with an indescribable
air of polite contempt. Labar, spite of his resolution to hold himself
with restraint, was a little stung by the other man's audacity. Larry
had the impudence to play with him.

"If you want it point blank," he said, quite gently, but with jaw
jutting out a trifle, "I'll tell you that you ran the show. This is
quite unofficial, of course, but you know that I know, so what's the
use of keeping up this farce? How deep the girl is in it I am not sure,
yet. But I'll have enough on you in a week to put you where you belong."

Larry Hughes flung back his head and laughed till exhaustion caused him
to desist. "That's real funny. You don't look it I'll admit, but you
must be one of those comic sleuths. Shall I do some thought reading,
Mr. Labar? You come across a big jewel robbery and your well-known grey
matter gets to work. 'Ah, ah,' you say. 'Here is the obvious handiwork
of that famous gentleman crook, Mr. Hughes. Let's go on a fishing
expedition, and see what we can bluff out of Mr. Hughes.' Am I right,
sir?" He leaned forward with hand outstretched in burlesque imitation
of a vaudeville lightning calculator.

Beneath his ironic tone there was something more serious. His alert
mind had hit upon the very reason of Labar's visit. The inspector had
taken a chance, partly because he wished to see what Larry was like in
person, partly to try and scare the man into some hasty and incautious
step. The bigger men at the Yard would scarcely have approved of
the attempt, but Labar had not consulted them. He had acted upon an
impulse, and he had realised that he was courting failure--though his
mind had not turned to the grotesque and humiliating failure that now
seemed probable. After all, failure in this point was to have been
expected. He had seen for himself what type of man Larry was. That at
least was something gained. Nor could it matter in the least that Larry
now knew definitely that he was suspected. That he would know in any
event, and the interview could make no difference.

He felt himself a little nearer to probing the relationship between
this sleek, gibing crook, and Penelope, but still he was far away from
anything definite.

"You're like all the rest of them," he said. "You know it all." He
levelled a forefinger. "You've got away with it so far, Larry Hughes.
I'll not deny that you've got brains. But you've got vanity, and
that's where you'll come a cropper. You may swizzle me, as you have
others, but in the end it isn't me you're up against. It's Scotland
Yard, it's Mulberry Street, it's the Sûreté. It's every police officer
you may pass from here to Timbuctoo. You can't fight men, money and
organisation all the time. Think a bit."

There lurked a humorous twitch at the corner of Larry Hughes' lips,
and there was less cynicism there. "Tell me, did you ever hear of
a fox-hunter giving up because he might break his neck? If I were a
criminal, it's just conceivable that I might like the game for its own
sake."

"Then I hope you break your neck," retorted Labar with asperity. "I'll
give you a case in point. When you let amateurs into this bust you
slipped a cog. I've had Penelope Noelson under observation for the last
eighteen hours, and to-day, she'll be placed under detention. And I
rather fancy she'll talk."

The smiling nonchalance of Larry Hughes vanished. He flung cigarette
and amber holder with an impatient gesture into the grate, and advanced
a step, with clenched hands.

"Don't be a damned fool, man," he snarled. "That girl has no more
concern with the robbery than the man in the moon. She's white. The
whole thing is pure silliness. What have you got against her?"

"Not a thing. She only tried to bribe me yesterday. She only changed a
forged cheque on the Midland Bank. She only tried to sandbag me last
night. She only denied that she had ever heard of you, and now I find
her photograph in your private room. Oh, I've not a thing to hold her
on."

There was a little bead of perspiration on the smooth forehead of the
crook. "I don't believe you are lying to me," he said earnestly, "but
you're all wrong somehow. That girl has not the faintest strain of
crookedness in her. Supposing that all you've heard about me is true.
Have you known me to do a dirty thing?"

"That's a large question. They say you keep faith with your
confederates."

"I do more than that. I play the game as I see it. And I give you
my word, Mr. Labar, that Penelope Noelson had no hand directly or
indirectly in this crime."

"That won't help her," said Labar, grimly.

"Meaning that you want to get at me through her. Well, go ahead and
prove something on me, Mr. Inspector. We're absolutely alone here.
Stand very still if you please."

The blue barrel of an automatic stared at Labar, and Hughes' finger was
tensed on the trigger. "I hate to pull a gun," he went on, "and I'd
hate still more to use it. But you leave me no option. There's a man of
yours out there watching the house, and I don't want him butting in. So
make one single move to your whistle and I'll blow you full of holes."

"What's the game?" demanded Labar, placidly.

"I'll show you." Hughes came nearer, and still keeping the detective
covered, thrust his left hand into the other's breast pocket. He
withdrew the photograph. "This is my property. See here." He replaced
the automatic in his pocket, and tore the portrait to strips. "That's
that. Just one little bit of evidence against Miss Noelson gone. Now
you may go, too."

Labar took it all gracefully. "Thank you," he said. "I'll be back."

"Oh, no you won't," disagreed Hughes. "If you try it I'll have the
servants throw you out. Good-bye, Mr. Labar."

He accompanied the detective inspector to the front door, and as soon
as it had closed behind him, returned and summoned a servant.

"Tom," he demanded, "did you ever read Bacon?"

"I don't know that I have, sir."

"No, I scarcely expected it. He's not a popular novelist. He says that
in preparation it is good to realise dangers, and in action wisest to
disregard them. So I shan't go to Kempton Park to-day. I'm wanting
the car at once, and you'll come with me. We're going to disregard a
danger."




                              CHAPTER VI


It was with the conviction that Penelope Noelson was the key to the
mystery that Labar made his way back to town. The hint that she would
be detained would scarcely have stirred Larry Hughes as it had, unless
she was in the plot. True, Labar was not as certain as he might have
wished. He had not been entirely candid with Larry Hughes. She had not
been identified as changing the forged cheque, although Malone had that
morning reported that so far as the cashier recollected it had been a
woman who passed it over the counter. And according to the man he had
left to keep observation upon her, she had not gone from Streetly House
the previous night. If that was so she could not be the lady of the
sandbag. There remained the episode of the hundred pound note--the only
definite thing that he could prove against her.

He looked in at Grape Street before proceeding to Streetly House, to
pick up such fresh threads as might have been collected during his
absence. There was the inevitable string of reports, some entirely
valueless, some which might become of importance or futile in the
light of future events. He sifted them through rapidly. Here was the
statement that Malone had taken from the bank cashier. Here was a plan
drawn by a police surveyor of Streetly House. Here was the report--very
sketchy--of Larry Hughes' movements for the last week. Here were
other reports of the recent doings of certain notabilities of the
underworld. Not only had the C.I.D. men been busy, but their jackals,
the "informants," had been whipped up in force. The drag-net had been
cast over London, and here on Labar's desk was the result.

He paused over two things. One was an abrupt note from Winter. "Have
you noticed this? It is from Monday's _Times_."

Pasted on a sheet of paper was a cutting from the personal column.

    "Panjandrum. Urgent. All fixed for to-night. Keep Walloper
    straight, and inform. Have not seen him. Piccadilly Tube. Same
    time."

Now, it was on Monday night that the theft had occurred, and the
personal column is a simple means of communication between those who
do not care to risk the mails or a direct interview. Of course, the
advertisement might have been inserted by an entirely innocent person
outside the affair. On the other hand it was likely enough to have
some bearing on the crime.

The other document that interested Labar was a report from a smart
young detective sergeant who was in charge of an out-lying station. It
told of one, Gold Dust Teddy, who had left his little suburban house
on the Monday, and had been absent all night. Teddy was one of the few
men who had the craftsmanship to execute a great burglary. He was not
a great thief for two reasons. Apart from an uncanny mechanical skill
he had no other asset for his career--no imagination, no finesse.
And he had periodical drinking bouts. These two things had brought
him to grief on occasion. The hall-mark of his failure was that his
finger-prints were on record at Scotland Yard.

Teddy, it appeared--one may observe the use of the informant in the
detective sergeant's report--had been on the water-wagon for some
time. But a week ago he had broken out. For two or three days he had
drunk steadily, and finished up by breaking the jaw of one of his
boon companions who had refused to lend him money. Then he had laid
up to recover as was his habit. On Tuesday he had gone on a drinking
bout again, and that seemed likely to continue indefinitely. During
his absence the sergeant had talked with his wife, who would give
nothing away. But he had rescued from the grate of a room during the
conversation a half-burnt scrap of paper which he enclosed.

    "All ready. Cut out b---- put you in the mud. Meet----"

Labar considered matters thoughtfully. This was too good to be true.
If he was able to add two and two together correctly it might lead
anywhere. It looked reasonably certain that Gold Dust Teddy was one of
Larry's tools. All the same, to rope in a drunken burglar did not of
necessity mean that he would be any nearer to getting Larry Hughes.
It was on record that Larry had contrived to slip from the meshes on
similar occasions.

He sent for one of his men. "Go out and see Simmons. Tell him that
you're to help him bring in Gold Dust Teddy. If Teddy wants to know why
he's pinched you haven't got any idea. Follow that. Just bring him in.
Take a pair of cuffs with you. He may be rough to handle."

The theory that a Scotland Yard man carries handcuffs habitually in his
pocket dies hard. They are heavy things, and he takes them only when he
needs them, which is seldom.

A ragged shrill whistle which remotely resembled a tune heralded the
entrance of Malone. "You here, guv'nor. There's a lady asking to see
you downstairs. Passed her on the way up."

"Can't see anyone this morning, Bill. It's my busy day. Somebody whose
cook has got away with the fish knives I expect. You go and have a word
with her."

"I think you'll see this one," said Malone. "She's Miss Penelope
Noelson."

The girl was pale, but her voice was firm as she returned Labar's
formal greeting.

"I was on my way to see you," he said.

"I expected you earlier," she returned a trifle wearily. "As you didn't
come I thought it well----"

"I hope you let me have the full story," he interrupted. "You have had
time to sleep over it, and perhaps you will see the wisdom of being
absolutely frank. But understand you are not compelled to say anything.
I shall conceivably have to use it against you."

"It has been a nightmare since yesterday," she confessed, speaking
slowly, as with effort. "If you intend to arrest me you will have to.
I know--what you think--I don't blame you." She choked back something
very like a sob. "I can only tell you I am almost innocent. I can see
how black things must look to you; but that is the truth. There are
others--I cannot tell you all."

There is a wholesome rule that a police officer must not question a
person whom he knows he will in all probability have to arrest. It is
a rule which strictly applied would leave many mysteries unexplained,
and detectives have at times to walk warily round it, taking a certain
amount of risk.

"You are _almost_ innocent," he repeated. "What does that mean,
exactly? There are other people you are shielding? Come, Miss
Noelson, there is nothing to be gained by hanging back. Do you know
what this mistaken chivalry may mean? It will save no one. It may mean
disgrace--ruin--the prison taint--for you. Why take the chance--the
almost certainty?"

He was leaning across the table with folded arms, his eyes fixed
on her face. She avoided his gaze, and her hands tortured a small
handkerchief. Clearly she was moved almost beyond endurance.

"Oh, leave me alone," she cried. "Can't you understand, Mr. Labar. You
are a decent man. I don't know what is the right thing to do. I can
only tell you that I gave you that note for--for someone else. I never
knew--I never realised what it all meant. I came to tell you that. You
mustn't ask me anything else."

He came towards her and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. "You
poor child," he said, and there was genuine sympathy in his tone. "If
I were your elder brother, my dear girl, I should give you the same
advice that I'm offering you now. Get this off your mind. Tell me
everything."

"You can lock me up," she said, faintly. "It will make no difference."

"But," he urged, "do you know who this man is that you are trying to
protect, this notorious crook, this----"

She looked at him, eyes wide open in amazement. He stopped abruptly.

"I am not trying to shield any notorious criminal," she declared.

"You may not know it, but Larry Hughes is one of the most dangerous men
in London."

She looked him straight in the eyes now. "That is the man you mentioned
yesterday. When I said I did not know him I was confused. I have met
him twice, or perhaps three times. He is no friend of mine--merely an
acquaintance."

"He is the man who engineered the burglary. He is not worth an ache of
your little finger."

"It is all so dreadfully mixed up," she exclaimed. "You must believe
me, Mr. Labar, I hardly know him."

He saw that it was scarcely worth pushing the harassed girl further
for the time, and bit his lips as he tried to consider the next move.
His duty, which he had seen clearly before this interview, was no less
plain now. The girl should be held if only on her own admission that
she was an accessory in the crime. But somehow he could not bring
himself to issue the order. He tried unsuccessfully to tell himself
that he was a fool to let himself be hypnotised by her. It was no use.

"Well, if you won't talk, you won't," he said with a shade of gruffness
in his tone. "That will do for now, Miss Noelson. I don't profess to
understand you."

"You mean--I can go?" she asked, hesitatingly.

"You can go," he agreed.

She held out a slim hand. "I want to thank you," she said simply.

"Better go now," he said, "before I change my mind."

He held the door open for her and stood for a while in thought
watching her as she descended the stairs. Another door opened, and a
man casually followed her. The mechanics of investigation have to be
obeyed, and Labar had no intention of calling off her shadow.

He returned to his desk, and picked up a document. But his agility of
mind had deserted him. He saw nothing but a pair of grey eyes--eyes
plaintive, protesting, pleading. For ten minutes he sat thus, lost to
the world. A sharp, imperative knock at the door, followed by the swift
entrance of one of his men, recalled him to himself.

"I'm sorry, sir," gasped the intruder, "Miss Noelson, Miss Noelson----"

Labar was at his side and shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Don't
stand there stammering, you fool. What's happened to Miss Noelson?"

"She's gone, sir. Just outside Streetly House it was. A gentleman
stopped to speak to her. I was thirty yards away. They walked a few
paces. Suddenly he lifted her into a big car that was standing at the
kerb. She shouted, but before I could reach them they were gone. That's
all, sir."

"You lump of mud. You condemned camel. What else did you do besides
gaping after them like a codfish? Did you get the car number? What was
the man like?"

Labar shook the man feverishly. The other pulled himself away
unresentfully. "It was a big Rolls, number K9362. The man was of medium
size, very well dressed in a light-grey suit----"

"Larry Hughes, by thunder!" ejaculated Labar.




                              CHAPTER VII


The incidence of crime among fifty million people affects the average
individual very seldom. Any ordinary man who has his pocket picked or
the domestic silver stolen, has the feeling that he has been unfairly
selected as the victim of a phenomenon. Why should such a singular
misfortune happen to him?

So it was with Penelope Noelson. A very much worried person was that
girl as she left the precincts of the Grape Street police station.
She felt a sense of injustice that she should have become caught in a
coil from which she saw no way of extricating herself. If only things
would work out so that she would not be involved. A selfish attitude no
doubt, but one which she would have been something more than human to
avoid.

Quite illogically, there was a touch of exasperation in her mind with
Labar. She had felt grateful to him as she left the station, but now
she reflected that like many men he was blind in one eye. How dare
he assume that her silence was due to an affection for Mr. Hughes?
Why, he had even hinted that--that----. She flushed hotly at the
implication that she realised might have lain behind his guarded words.
For Penelope, although a modern and sophisticated maiden, had a quite
sufficient self-respect.

She had to carry on the fight alone. There was no one, neither relation
nor intimate friend, to whom she might turn for counsel or sympathy.
And beyond it all lay the shadow of the gaol. If there had only been
something she could do, some active step that she might take, it
would have been easier. She thought of flight. That would, however,
be taken as an admission of guilt. Besides, she had little money, and
her commonsense told her that Labar had probably foreseen and guarded
against that very contingency. Any attempt of that kind might very well
be the signal for her arrest.

It was with her thoughts thus occupied that she did not observe Larry
Hughes until he was within a couple of paces. He raised his hat and
dropped into step by her side.

"Miss Noelson. The very person I was hoping to see. May I have a word
with you?"

She turned an embarrassed face to him. "You! The police----" She
struggled for words.

"Please don't fear for me," he said smilingly. "I am in no imminent
danger of arrest. That is what you are afraid of, I guess. I gather
that you have just left my humorous young friend, Detective Inspector
Labar. No doubt he spent a pleasant quarter of an hour blackening my
character. An ambitious young man is Mr. Labar. He believes that I am
some sort of a gilt-edged criminal, and that you are my accomplice.
Funny, isn't it?"

The airy jocularity of his tone did not deceive her. Her intuition told
her more than he meant to betray. "What do you want?" she demanded. "If
things are as you say, then for us to be seen together will look even
more suspicious."

"You are being shadowed," he said. "There is a gentleman loitering a
little aimlessly down the road, who I judge is interested in you. I
have had a couple of detectives behind me whenever I have taken a walk.
Fortunately, motor cars are a little difficult for eavesdroppers. I
have mine at hand. A ride for ten minutes will allow me to make many
things clear. Will you come?"

She shook her head with decision. Whatever lay behind all this, it
was likely that it could bring her nothing but harm, in view of the
suspicions that already focussed upon her and Hughes.

"There is no need to make things clear to me," she said. "If you know
anything about this crime, Mr. Hughes, you should go to the police."

He gripped her by the arm, and she felt his fingers tighten. "You are
not afraid?" he demanded. "This is absurd, I must see you."

The shadower was standing some distance away, surveying with apparently
idle interest a couple of men engaged on road repairs. But Larry
guessed that in a few moments he would saunter down towards them. There
was no time to take chances. His grip tightened roughly and he almost
shook her.

"Let me go," she cried. "You're hurting my arm."

"Then you'll come?"

"No."

"You obstinate little fool," he snarled, and she found his arms
encircling her, as she was lifted from the ground.

A cry for help escaped her, and she saw in a quick glance that the
detective had lost interest in the road repairers and was running
towards them. She fought with all the strength of her lithe, young body
to tear herself away. One arm she managed to wrench free and Larry
ripped out an oath as her fist caught him on the jaw.

With a supreme effort he hurled her through the door of the car which
someone within held open, and tumbled in on top of her. She felt other
hands clutching at her and a cloth was drawn tightly about her face,
smothering her screams. She heard the door slam and felt the car drawn
fiercely into motion. Still she maintained her struggles until at last
the two men--she knew there were two now--had pinned her to her seat,
and she could move neither hand nor foot.

So they held her, it seemed for hours, though at a later stage she
knew that it was for less than an hour, while they were running out of
London.

The noise of traffic died down, and the soft not unmusical voice of
Larry Hughes came to her ear. "Sorry to be rough, but you rather forced
it on us. You had better accept things as they are, and we shall all be
more comfortable. Promise that you have finished with this tiger-cat
business, and we'll let you travel like a civilised being."

She was exhausted, and in any case she could not hope to make any
further effective resistance. The cloth about her head prevented her
speaking, but she nodded and she felt the hands that pressed her down
cautiously withdrawn. The cloth was taken from about her face. Larry
Hughes, however, still retained a grip of her wrist.

"That's better," he announced. "Tom, stop the car for a moment and get
in front with Williams. Miss Noelson and I have a few private things to
discuss."

She remained silent, collecting her thoughts, till the car had started
again. Then she spoke angrily.

"This is an outrage."

"I agree," he said, coolly. "What would you expect? I had to do this,
since you would not let me persuade you. I have saved you from a very
awkward position."

"You have placed me in a worse one," she retorted. "What do you intend
to do with me now?"

He freed her wrist and regarded her speculatively, with a cold smile
twitching at the corners of his mouth. "That depends," he said. "I
have, thanks to Mr. Labar, had to push things rather in a hurry. How
much of what he told me about you was true? Not all, I'm sure, or you
wouldn't have been allowed to walk out of the police station this
morning."

He had contrived to startle the girl out of her attitude of cold
resentment. She pulled herself round till she was half-facing him.

"What did he say? What does he know?"

"I can't tell you what he knows, but what he asserted that he knew was
that you had committed forgery, and that you tried first to bribe him,
and then to knock him out. The case as he presented it was pretty ugly.
There was only one thing left for me to do as a friend of yours. That
was to get you out of the way."

Penelope's face darkened as she listened. Was Labar trying some subtle
underhand game of bluff? If he had thus lied about her to Hughes, might
he not equally have lied to her when he declared that Larry Hughes was
a criminal? What could he hope to gain by it? Her hands opened and
closed nervously as she considered. Had she misjudged Hughes merely on
the strength of this man's word whom she had only met yesterday?

"That is a string of lies," she said scornfully.

"Not altogether, I think," he said thoughtfully, his dark piercing eyes
fixed unwaveringly on her, as though he would read her thoughts. "There
is truth in it somewhere. How much? How much has Adèle told you?" He
thrust his face even closer towards her. "I know there is a reason
for your actions. I am your friend and hers. I am taking a heavy risk
to help you whether you appreciate it or not. We are all in the same
boat--all suspect. Let us clear the air."

His voice was low and persuasive, and his hand sought and found hers.
She hastily tore hers away from his touch. For once Larry Hughes had
overplayed his part. Penelope had got a clue to things that had been
dark to her, and some at least of her doubts of the man who sat by her
side were resolved.

"Adèle--and you," she murmured, softly, more to herself than to the
man. "I begin to understand."

"Well, tell me," he said.

"You," she said holding away from him as from some abhorrent thing,
"you are the blackmailer. You are the man she has been buying silence
from. You are the man who wrecked her life, who has driven her to
forgery, and worse. I believe you are the most contemptible creature on
God's earth."

Not a muscle of the man's face moved as he listened. "Like you, I
begin to see," he declared, his tone smooth as before. "Well, it
doesn't matter a whole lot. Adèle has been putting her foot in it,
possibly getting out of her depth at the races, and she has hinted to
you that she is being blackmailed. Anyhow, she has done some foolish
things, and you are standing between her and trouble. That's what
it amounts to. No, Miss Noelson, I am not a blackmailer. There was
something between Adèle and me many years ago, before her marriage, and
possibly a crook has got some foolish letters of ours."

Mentally he cursed himself for a fool. So sure had he been that the
charges Labar had made against this girl could only be explained by
one reason--that she was fully in Adèle Gertstein's confidence--that
he had let slip enough to enable her to make a guess somewhere near
the truth. It was not Larry Hughes' habit to talk loosely. However, it
could not be helped. He had acted on the assumption that the knowledge
she had might make disclosures from her dangerous. He realised that he
had been wrong. He might have left her alone and all Labar's efforts to
extract anything from her that would have inculpated Larry would have
been vain. But now by his own act he had made her the very menace he
had feared. The guard that he had ever maintained upon himself had been
incautiously relaxed. At least it was not irretrievable. He was where
he had thought himself to be. Scotland Yard would have a long way to
go ere it would be able to bring any crime against him.

The girl shrank as far from him as the limits of the car would allow.
"But why this?" she demanded. "Why are you carrying me away, and where
are you taking me?"

He made an impatient little gesture. "I am taking you away because you
are not safe in London. You need have no fear. You will be well looked
after."

Penelope did not miss the sinister construction that might have been
put upon his words. She felt herself shudder inwardly. But to the man
she presented a brave front.

"Why?" she demanded again. "I am nothing to you. I insist that you put
me down."

"And let Labar twist you as he will. I am not raving mad." With a
sudden movement he possessed himself of her hands. "Penelope, you are
something to me. Can't you understand, child? You are everything to me."

"No," she protested. "Do not touch me."

He paid no heed. "I want you, child. I have wanted you ever since
I met you. Listen. You have no one to consider but yourself. I am
rich--richer than you could imagine. I can give you everything that the
world holds. You and I together. Will you marry me?"

"No," she declared, vehemently. "Marry a thief--a blackmailer--God
knows what--no!"

He flung her roughly from him. He had heard harder words in his life
and had met them sneering and unmoved. But somehow to hear them from
her stung him.

"You think you won't--now," he said viciously. "But you will, my girl.
If you think you can set your silly obstinacy against my will, my dear,
and win, you are booked for trouble. I have given you your chance and I
don't permit man nor woman to stand in my way. Bigger people than you
have learnt that."

She returned no answer. The car turned from the smooth road, and slowed
as it took a rough track through a windswept marshland. In a little it
came to a halt.

"Here we are," said Larry Hughes.




                             CHAPTER VIII


Although it would have pleased Harry Labar to tumble into the fastest
motor car he could find and engage in swift and melodramatic chase of
Larry Hughes and Penelope, he was deterred by many considerations.
Chief among them was the fact that they had a start that made pursuit
in such a manner impracticable. Then, again, the whole thing might
prove a wild goose chase. It might be just a pleasant comedy staged by
Larry for reasons of his own.

Labar forced himself to reason coldly on the matter, although there was
a tinge of apprehension in his mind so far as Penelope was concerned.
But he dare not take his own personal feelings into account. He was
surprised, but then Larry had a habit of doing the unexpected thing.
Larry would appreciate the construction that must be put upon the
episode--that Penelope's evidence was of such importance, that he was
compelled to this seemingly reckless method of ensuring her silence.
But he must realise that he could not hold her indefinitely.

Do not imagine that the detective inspector sat idle while he balanced
these things in his mind. He had to adjust the machinery to meet the
case. As soon as he was perfectly clear on the facts, he had begun to
work.

"All station" messages to the two hundred or so police stations in
London were being sent out over the private wires. To those county and
borough forces that held sway over certain strategic points on the
roads leading from the metropolis, requests were broadcast to "stop and
detain" Larry's car and its passengers. Thus thousands of men would
be on the look out for the fugitives, although Labar feared it would
be too late. Before instructions could reach the men on their patrols
the car would in all likelihood be far away. But there was more than a
chance that the route would be picked up, although Labar was too old a
hand to rely confidently even upon this.

Men were on their way to Larry's house at Hampstead, and Malone was
even then swearing out a search warrant. All this was more or less
an ordinary adaptation of the Scotland Yard organisation to meet an
emergency. Labar considered the advisability of getting on to the Yard
and obtaining permission to use the newspapers. It was a resort of
which the authorities were not too fond, for there is still a certain
suspicion of the Press at Scotland Yard. The inspector resolved that
the step might well wait till all else failed.

As his grip on the work before him tightened, a flash of inspiration
came to Labar. He nodded grimly in confirmation of his own reasoning.
There was only one way in which Larry Hughes could make certain that
Penelope could be for ever prevented from giving evidence. A married
woman, so the law runs, cannot be compelled to give evidence against
her husband.

He turned cold at the thought. Would Larry dare? Was there after all
anything he would not dare? But even so no marriage could take place
without the consent of the girl. Was she likely to succumb to Larry's
persuasions--or threats?

He stood at the door of his room and shouted a name. "Here, you! Tumble
down to Somerset House--Registrar-General's Department. I want to know
what steps have to be taken to get a special marriage licence. If any
application comes in with regard to a couple called Hughes and Noelson,
I want to know at once. Get off right away."

There was nothing more he could do for the present in regard to the
abduction. He glanced at his watch. He ought to go down to Streetly
House, but at any moment they might bring in Gold Dust Teddy, and
he wanted to be at hand to see that gentleman. He decided to wait.
Throwing himself back in his chair he put his feet on the desk and
closing his eyes indulged in the luxury of a nap.

Half-an-hour passed before he was roused by the information that Teddy
was downstairs in the charge-room awaiting his pleasure.

"Have much trouble?" he asked the officer who brought him the news.

"Not what you might call a lot, sir. Found him in his favourite pub
and jumped him before he had a chance to get ugly. He was half-lit up,
and gave Down a black eye before we got the bracelets on him. But he's
sobered up a lot now, though he's still talking big."

"Right oh. Put him in the detention-room. I'll be down to see him in a
minute."

Gold Dust Teddy greeted Labar with a sort of surly amiability some
five minutes later. There is no overt enmity between the ordinary
professional rogue and the police. He recognises that the detectives
are merely doing a job in bringing him to justice, and, though he
will do anything to keep out of their clutches, once there he accepts
matters as they are with a sort of philosophy. Now and again there is
an officer against whom he nourishes some bitter grievance, and he will
talk with venom and contempt of the "Johns" and the "bodies" among his
intimates. But face to face detective and crook meet on those terms of
intimacy that might exist between members of opposing teams.

Teddy did not look a Bill Sikes. He would have passed any normal
scrutiny as a respectable middle-class citizen. He wore a collar and
tie, and there were distinct traces of a crease in his trousers. His
cleanshaven face was hard, but not in the least forbidding, except that
the puffy eyes betrayed something of sottishness. You might set him
down as a hard case perhaps, but you would not condemn him on his looks.

"I been wanting to see you, Mr. Labar," he said aggressively. "It's a
bit tough on a bloke that's trying to run straight to have your fellers
come and rough house him without giving him a chance. Wouldn't even
tell me what it was for. It's illegal, that's what it is."

"Just wanted a little talk with you, Teddy," observed Labar quietly.
"Nothing to get excited about."

"Excited. You should tell them birds not to get excited. On my back
like a pair of ravening wolves they was. And I'm telling you, Mr.
Labar, there ain't anything against me. Not a thing. I've got a clean
sheet, I have, since I did that last lot."

"Glad to hear that, Teddy. Got enough money to retire on, have you? Or
have you got a job? Let's see. It's nine months since you came out of
stir. What have you been doing, besides drink?"

Well aware that Labar knew a great deal about him, Teddy shrugged his
shoulders. "I've had a glass now and again," he said defiantly. "Why
shouldn't I? You know how hard it is for a bloke like me, guv'nor.
Tried hard I have. What chance is there for a bloke like me?"

"Where was your last job? Have you got any references?"

"Fat hope. The wife had a bit of money by her and that's kept us going."

"Uh-huh. Getting pretty well up against it last week, weren't you? Or
did your wife have a new dividend in on Monday?"

The detective had not raised his voice, but Teddy winced as though the
question had been shouted at him. "'Struth, guv'nor, you don't think
I was in that Gertstein job, do you? I can prove where I was all that
night. I can bring witnesses."

"Sure you can?" Labar's voice was soothing, velvety. "What kind of
witnesses?" He did not doubt that the other had taken some kind of
steps to establish an alibi. "I wonder if a jury would believe 'em
against the story I might have to tell. Mind you, Teddy, I like you.
I'd hate to have to push all I know." The hint, half threat, half
promise, was delicately conveyed. "Much better for you to give me the
full strength of the yarn."

Teddy blinked. "You're bluffing," he asserted, doggedly. "I had nothing
to do with it. You can't lay anything over me."

"Bluffing, am I? Don't you believe it, son. I know all about Larry
and the others. You think that Larry will help you out of this mess.
He won't. He's on his way out of London, and he's leaving you and the
others to hold the baby. Here." His voice changed and he fixed his
eyes sternly upon the burglar. "How do you account for this?" He fished
a piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket. "This was found in your
house, and it's a message from Larry to you. 'All ready. Cut out the
booze or I'll put you in the mud. Meet to-night at----'" The inspector
mumbled something incoherently and thrust the paper in his pocket. "You
thought that you'd burnt that, Teddy, but you hadn't. You've botched
it, Teddy. Now are you going to help me or are you going to be a fool?
Make up your mind."

Teddy's face had visibly paled while he listened. His first impression
that Labar had been bluffing was right. But the inspector on his
slender materials had managed to weaken the burglar's opinion. He
was determined to break Teddy down, and since the Third Degree is
frowned upon by British law, there was only this way open to him. It
might be questioned by a pedant whether even so he was within the
narrow confines of legality. That troubled him little. The strict
interpretation of the law in the letter and the spirit would paralyse
half the activities of Scotland Yard.

There is possibly honour among thieves in a few exceptional cases. Here
and there one may find a "straight crook" who will loyally stand by
his associates, but as a general principle known to every police force
in the world, there is scarcely a thief who will not give away another
thief if pressed, either to curry favour or in the hope of some measure
of protection for himself.

This time, however, Labar realised that it might be more difficult.
Among those who knew him Larry Hughes was recognised to have a long
arm. He gave rewards lavishly, but he held stern discipline. There were
tales in the underworld, even among those who would not have recognised
Larry Hughes if they saw him, of certain, if sometimes long delayed,
vengeance on those who had talked too much. Larry never forgot, and
never failed to repay. It was an element in his own methods of ensuring
safety.

Teddy hesitated. He was in a police station and Labar was the more
immediate danger. Against that, not even Labar could hold him immune
from a long term of imprisonment if he admitted complicity in the
robbery. The most he could do would be to refrain from pressing
the case too heavily. Supposing he thus saved a year or two of his
sentence, there were still Larry and Larry's friends to be reckoned
with. He had heard of men being "framed" by Larry for crimes they
had not committed, men against whom the police had found convincing
evidence to their hands. There were others, cripples for life, who dare
not tell in what strange encounter they received their injuries. There
were still others who had dropped out of all human knowledge, with only
the possibility of a grim guess at their fate. All of these had in some
degree failed to keep faith with Larry Hughes.

"I don't know any Larry." He met the gaze of the inspector with a fixed
stare. "I ain't had no message from no one. You didn't find that paper
in my place, and if you did it don't prove anything. You won't get me
spilling anything, Mr. Labar, so you may as well save your breath. If
you're going to keep me here I want to see a mouth-piece. I know my
rights."

"We're good friends, Teddy."

"You don't blarney me any more than you can bluff me," said the other,
dourly. "I know my rights."

"That's all right then. Better be careful." Labar was as mild as ever,
and perhaps a shade more genial. "Run along now and be a good boy.
Don't get into any more mischief."

Teddy scowled uneasily and shifted to his feet twirling his soft hat in
his hands. He did not know what to make of this dismissal, but he was
more than a little suspicious. In his experience divisional detective
inspectors did not give up in this way.

"You're through?" he asked.

"Through for now. I may have to see you again, I hope. Look after
yourself."

Sufficient for the day are the troubles thereof. That was part of Gold
Dust Teddy's philosophy. He did not for an instant suppose that Labar
was as generous as he appeared to be--there was certainly something
behind this move. But the immediate fact was that he was out of a hole.
Whatever happened thereafter could be met from outside a cell.

With a cheerful salute he passed through the door which the inspector
unlocked for his benefit, and so through a few odd uniformed police
and one or two detectives at whom he leered triumphantly out of the
entrance to the station.

Labar thrust an arm through that of a frowning young detective sergeant
whose discoloured eye told Teddy's prowess and led him upstairs.

"You've helped a whole lot on this job, Down," he said. "Don't you
worry about Teddy. We'll get our hooks on him when we want. I'm using
him as bait. What I want you to do is to watch when the big fish bites."

He expounded at greater length when he was back at his desk. "This
joker's in the game up to the neck, but you can bet Larry's only
trusted him as far as he had to. How much he knows I can't say. He's
scared to death to say anything, now. But it's odds, now that we're on
to him, that he'll try to give the office to Larry either direct, or
through someone else. You've got to tail him closer than a brother.
Take Heath to help you--he doesn't know Heath. And be particularly
careful when he's stewed. He may drop something that we'd like to know.
See if you can get a line through what channels his money comes, though
Larry's likely to have seen that you don't get back to him that way. If
you do get hold of anything burn the wires in getting it to me."

Down jerked his head in comprehension. "I'll attend to it, sir. Heath
will be on the job when I have to stay under cover."

"Get to it then. I'm relying on you not to fall down."

The divisional detective inspector turned to other matters.




                              CHAPTER IX


A couple of days passed, and although the newspapermen still pestered
Labar, and other potential sources of information at Scotland Yard,
the space allotted to the hue and cry in the news dwindled. Labar was
thankful. There are times when an energetic and persevering journalist
may stumble on something that will aid the police, but in a case of
this kind reporters were an embarrassment. There were no innocuous
morsels that one might feed them on, and such facts as Labar had up
his sleeve he was anxious to keep to himself. Larry no doubt would be
scanning the morning and evening journals with assiduity.

The investigation marked time. Gertstein had been able to throw no
light on the forgery, save that a cheque form was missing from his
book, and in one or two interviews Labar found him more prickly than at
first. He seemed gloomily to revel in giving up hope that any result
would be achieved by the matter of fact methods of the police. The
strange disappearance of Miss Noelson he put down entirely to the
heavy-handed tactlessness of Labar. The latter had not thought it worth
while to tell everything.

"She has been terrified," declared Gertstein. "You made a big blunder
in letting her see that you suspected her. That poor girl has been
driven away, and you are responsible because you told her she was the
thief."

"She'll be back, all right," said Labar with a calmness that the little
man felt bordered on callousness. "We'll find her."

There Gertstein with a disbelieving grunt left the matter, although
he mentally decided that if Penelope was not traced quickly he would
enlist the aid of some other machinery than that of Scotland Yard.

The burglarious Gold Dust Teddy was leading an apparently normal,
half-drunken existence, with Down and Heath, both ambitious young
officers, camping on his trail. So far he had afforded them no chance
of getting nearer to proof against Larry. They had devised means--what
they were Labar did not inquire, though he might make a close guess--of
studying all the correspondence, both inward and outward, of his
household. They had even used tests recommended to them by a Government
chemist calculated to reveal the most obdurate sympathetic ink. And
Heath patronising Teddy's favourite "pub" had stood the latter sundry
drinks the while he conveyed that he himself was a "screwsman" much
wanted, who was quite ready to take a hand in any exploit that might
perchance lead to profit. Beyond this Down had his small coterie of
"informants" on the qui vive. All this had hitherto gone for nothing.

A very effective turn over of Larry's Hampstead house, under the powers
of the search warrant that Malone had obtained, had been futile. It
is to be doubted if the most inexperienced of the officers engaged
seriously expected that anything incriminating would be found. Amid all
the sumptuous equipment of the residence there was nothing that had not
been honestly bought and paid for. It was the house of a very wealthy,
very tasteful man. There were no dramatic secret doors or hiding
places. The few servants about the place had antecedents that placed
them beyond suspicion. They only knew that Mr. Hughes was a generous,
if somewhat erratic, master, given to sudden comings and goings, in
which he was usually attended by his valet, and his chauffeur. About
these two men little could be learnt. Letters were found--tradesmen's
bills and other quite innocent missives--that helped not at all.

Yet in a way Labar was enjoying himself. The throwbacks, the lines
of inquiry that led nowhere, were in normal sequence for this type
of investigation and but stiffened his resolution to see the matter
through. He had regained the interest that he had lost in his work. No
one knew better than he the value of persistency. Somehow he would get
his fingers on that end of the string that would unravel the entire
tangle. It might be obtained by dogged perseverance; it might drop
unexpectedly from the blue skies as clues have not infrequently been
known to do.

He had a theory that he was wont to expand upon in moments of leisure
with his colleagues. "With enough men, enough money, enough brains and
a little time there is no mystery that cannot be explained."

Something of this sort he reiterated to Moreland, his Flying Squad
intimate, while they discussed the matter in the privacy of the
latter's room at Scotland Yard.

"You've been reading a detective novel," observed Moreland. "What if
you have men, money and brains up against you? Can't they foresee what
moves you are likely to make? Isn't that what Larry Hughes has done up
to now?"

"Yes. And don't we know something about Larry? With all that we know
him for a big crook. There's no mystery there. We can't prove it under
form of law, that's all."

Moreland levelled a forefinger. "Go easy with the grey matter, Harry.
You bewilder me. Let's get down to the practical. We know Larry is a
crook. We are paid to put crooks in prison--you and I. Yet Larry is a
gentleman at large."

Labar shook his head smilingly. "He can't beat the game all the time."

"Meaning that you propose to get your teeth in him. I wish you luck.
But where have you got so far? Just the off-chance of a charge of
abduction, and the lady may let you down there, after all, by saying
she went of her own free will. Don't kid yourself, Harry. It's
dangerous."

"A fine little old Job's comforter you make. I wonder if there is
anyone in the Yard who does not think I'm playing a losing hand against
Larry."

Moreland beat a pencil in an erratic tattoo on his blotting pad, and
shot an appraising sidelong glance at his friend. "Got to keep you from
getting too smug," he said. "You've got a temperament. A day or two ago
you had your tail between your legs--and now you talk as if it's all
over bar the shouting. I'm sure you've been reading a book. Next thing
you know you'll be reciting your methods to me _à la_ Sherlock
Holmes. Or is it"--he straightened himself up--"that you have something
up your sleeve?"

"I've a hunch----"

"For the love of Mike bury it. Facts are what you want."

"As I was saying," went on Labar, placidly, "I have a hunch that
something is about to open up. Amid all the free advice and admonitions
from some millions of newspaper readers--"

"Only millions?"

"Don't interrupt. It seems like millions anyway. But among the letters
sent to me was one that seems to me to show interesting possibilities.
It was anonymous, of course." He pulled an envelope out of his pocket.
"Postmarked E.C. 4. That doesn't help much. One of the busiest postal
districts in the city. Typewritten on cheap paper. 'If you want to get
to the bottom of the job you're on, ask Mrs. G. if she has managed to
pay her bookmaker's accounts yet.' What do you think of that, Moreland?
'Mrs. G.' is Mrs. Gertstein I suppose. She's a lady I haven't seen yet.
Been away, country house visiting or something."

The anonymous letter is not infrequently a factor in detective work,
however inconsiderable its value may be in the ordinary commerce of
society. Men and women--particularly women--will betray secretly from
many motives. What those motives may be it is seldom worth while to
inquire.

Moreland fingered the letter. "Somebody willing to knife the lady in
the back. May be nothing in it."

"May be. I'm not saying till I've looked into it. But, on the face of
it, it fits in. This girl--Penelope Noelson--is holding something back.
She's a friend of the Gertstein woman. If Mrs. Gertstein has outrun the
constable, and daren't let her husband know, why shouldn't she scrawl
a cheque in his name? Then she gets scared and tries first to bribe
me through Miss Noelson, and then to lay me out. She's supposed to be
out of London, and naturally I shouldn't think of her as being in the
shemozzle."

The Flying Squad man shook his head dubiously. "Sounds fair. But she
may be up against it with the bookies, and still outside this. Why
couldn't this be a plant on the part of Miss Noelson? That seems more
likely to me. Just a ruse to throw you off her track for a while. Don't
get too subtle. Stick to what's in front of your face."

"The old safety first plan, eh? That comes well from a man who's got
a bullet wound and a knife mark through interfering too closely with
race gangs. No, old chap, if I'm to come out top in this fight with
Larry Hughes, I've got to do some guessing, right or wrong. I've seen
Penelope Noelson. You haven't. If she's a real crook she's darned
clever. But----"

"'But----'" mimicked Moreland. "Oh la-la. No, I've not seen her, but
she's too good looking and sweet and innocent to be a crook. Oh, Harry.
Here, ease up!" Labar had his strong sinewy fingers round the back of
his friend's neck and was grinding his nose to the blotting pad. "I
take it all back. Let go, you long slob. You're a great man. You're
right. You've got us all skinned!" The other released his hold and
Moreland explored the nape of his neck gingerly. "You're a heavy-handed
son of a gun," he complained. "Can't you take a joke?"

"Why, yes. Couldn't you hear me laugh?" said Labar.

"I half believe--" Moreland stopped as he saw the gleam in Labar's eye.
"Never mind that," he went on hastily. "What I was going to say was
this, old lad. You're going against a man who hasn't got to stick to
rules and regulations. He'll fight all in--nothing barred. You can't
do that. But if you ever do corner him--look out. Until then you are
reasonably safe. All the same if I were you while you are on this hunt
I'd carry a gun. You may not need it, but if you do you'll want it
badly."

"A gun! Why I've never carried one in my life."

"Well, you pack one at the back of your pocket now. It will be a whole
lot healthier. If you can't use it you can bluff with it. Take my
advice."

"You have gleams of inspiration," said Labar. "I believe I will."

He swung off whistling softly. That evening he contrived to find
one who was willing to take him as a guest to one of the two great
bookmakers' clubs in London. The racecourse in some degree impinges
on the work of all detectives, because it is a sport in which many
of their clients are interested. Consequently, there were several
of the men present who knew the detective, and he was able to hold
unostentatious converse with some of the bigger operators--men he knew
who would answer his questions and keep their own counsel.

The inspector's methods of approach varied with his man. Now he would
plunge into a question point blank, and again he would lead up to his
point through side issues. But mostly he drew blank.

He slid into a seat fronting a billiard table by a blue jowled, plump
man with a frosty eye, who enveloped his hand in a leg of mutton fist.

"How are ye, Mr. Labar? Just looking round or are ye here to do a bit
of business? I'll lay ten to one that you want to know sommat. What are
ye takin'?"

"A small tonic will do me, thank you, Mr. Dickinson."

The big north-countryman (known to every racecourse frequenter in
the country from royalty downwards as "Dickie," and reputed to have
acquired a colossal fortune on the turf) protested at the mildness of
the drink. Labar, however, was firm and the other gave the order.

"Now I know ye're after ferreting sommat out of me, lad. Spit it out.
What dost want to know?"

He turned his moon of a face to the detective and his cold eyes
narrowed. "Dickie" never beat about the bush.

Labar was equally blunt. "Has a Mrs. Gertstein an account with you?"

"That hell-cat. She's in my ribs for a thousand or two."

"Passing up settling day lately, I suppose?"

"She is and all. There's been no settling day for her for a month or
two. See you, I don't mind a bit of rope, but, when a skirt plays this
'heads I win, tails you lose' game too often, it isn't good enough for
Dickie. That's the worst of betting with women."

"Ah. You've wanted to see the colour of her money?"

"Aye. Not that I've been dunning her. Maybe Tony, my clerk, has dropped
a hint. She's got a rich husband; though they're not always the best
payers. I don't argue with that sort. 'Well, mem,' I says, when she
comes up to me at Kempton, all jam and honey. 'I got seven small
children to keep in boot leather. I can't lay them boots to nothin'.
When that hole which you've bitten in my pocket-book is filled up, I'll
maybe consider makin' a bet with you. I don't want to offend you, mem,'
I says, 'but this ain't business. Nowt for nowt is my motto,' I says,
and with that she tosses her head and went off in a huff."

"So she stung you. Any others?"

"Yes. She got under the guard of one or two of 'em. Howsumever we
reckons to get our bit when the time comes. The old 'un has got the
dough, and she'll wheedle it out of him. She ain't so much crooked as
flippity--and she's a reg'ler little spitfire when she can't get her
own way."

Refusing another drink, Labar edged away, leaving Dickie to pass
caustic comments on the merits of the billiard players. He had learned
enough to verify the writer of the anonymous letter. Mrs. Gertstein was
certainly in debt to the bookmakers. That fact was, as Moreland had
pointed out, in itself of no importance. But it was of significance
taken in conjunction with other things. He began mentally to elaborate
a theory.




                               CHAPTER X


Through the gate of a high wall set about a low-built house the car
containing Penelope Noelson and Larry Hughes passed. A ground mist as
high as a man's waist was rising; but as far as the girl could see
there was nothing within view of the place but a desolate and dreary
tract of marshland. She shivered as though the spot chilled her.

Larry helped her to descend. "This is my country home," he said, "a
place I picked up cheap because it is eight miles from a railway
station, and five from anything resembling a road. Tricky business,
too, for a stranger to find a way about these marshes."

She did not miss the hint. "You think you are going to hold me as a
sort of prisoner here? Don't forget, Mr. Hughes, that I have friends."

He patted her on the shoulder. "Nothing so melodramatic as that,
I assure you. You are my guest. I'm afraid you will find the
accommodation a little rough, but I assure you we will do our best to
make you comfortable till I have time to make other arrangements. As
for your friends--including Inspector Labar--they will not worry us.
For your own sake it will be well to make yourself at home. I don't
want you to get lost, so it will be better for you to keep within the
walls of the grounds."

Pushing an arm through hers he led her up a stoneflagged pathway into
the house. A big-boned, pleasant-looking woman was standing on the
threshold.

"This is Mrs. Lengholm," he said. "We call her Sophie. She will look
after you. Did you get my wire, Sophie?"

"Yes, sir. Everything is ready. There's a fire in the lady's room, and,
as you said she had to leave hurriedly, I got a few clothes and other
necessaries for her."

"Thank you. Then she may like you to show her to her room." He turned
to Penelope. "If there is anything you would like, just tell Sophie.
And I hope you will not waste your time trying to bribe or threaten
her. We have known each other a long time, Sophie and I."

If other matters had not been teeming in Penelope's mind she might
have viewed with some surprise the furnishings of the room to which
she was ushered. The dingy aspect of the outside of the house had
promised nothing of this kind. It might have been the boudoir of some
princess. Luxurious carpets, chaste and delicate silken hangings, a bed
and chairs made by artists of long ago and matching the small bookcase
and writing-desk that seemed designed for the niches into which they
fitted, and two or three dainty water colours that in themselves must
have cost a small fortune, completed a room that would have sent a
professional decorator into ecstasy. On that small room money and
thought had been lavished.

"You see it's a kind of sitting-room as well as a bedroom?" explained
Sophie. "I have laid out some things for you on the bed. I had only a
general idea of your size but I think they will fit. Would you like me
to help you try them on?"

"Oh, no, no. Not now," said Penelope. She caught the other by the arm.
"Where is this place, Mrs. Lengholm?"

Sophie shook her head. "I'm to do anything for you except answer
questions, miss."

"I know I'm somewhere on the Kent or Sussex coast," said the girl. "The
signposts coming down told me that."

Sophie maintained an inflexible silence. Penelope considered her for a
moment.

"Perhaps you don't know that I have been brought down here by force,"
she ventured. "If you could post a letter for me--to let my friends
know. I could make it worth your while----"

A slow ironic smile broke over the elder woman's face. Penelope saw
what the answer must be before she spoke. "Didn't you hear what Mr.
Hughes said? You can't bribe me." She moved towards the door. "If you
want anything more, will you please ring."

Down in one of the morning rooms Larry Hughes smoked a thoughtful
cigarette and nursed his right knee between his hands. He straightened
up as Sophie entered soft footed.

"Well," he demanded, "everything all right?"

"She offered me money to post a letter."

"Didn't you take it?" he replied carelessly. "More fool you."

He did not even look at her, and the glowering eyes of the woman were
lost to him. "What are you going to do with her?" she asked.

He flicked the ash from his cigarette, and turned curiously to her.
"You're growing inquisitive in your old age, Sophie," he said with a
slight rising inflection in his voice. "All you've got to do is to look
after her while I tell you."

"There's some things I won't do, Larry Hughes," she retorted steadily.

He got to his feet and with darkened face took a step towards her.
"What's that you say, woman? Don't I pay you enough?"

She met his eyes stubbornly. "The pay's all right. I'm not complaining
of that. You've always done generously by me in that way. And I've been
useful to you. I may be a crook, but I'm not that sort of woman."

"What's biting you?" he asked threateningly. "Do you know where you
would be in a couple of days if I passed the word? In gaol with your
husband and seven or ten years staring you in the face. Tread on the
soft pedal, Sophie--and don't Larry Hughes me. Sir, from you, and
don't you forget it."

She placed her hands on her hips. "I know. All the same I won't be
dragged into this kind of dirtiness."

His frown faded. Comprehension showed in his face. "I see," he smiled.
"I didn't know that you were that kind of puritan. You can relieve
yourself of any scruples. I intend to marry the lady."

"If that's the case----" She hesitated in doubt.

"Oh, it's all true enough," he insisted. "She knows too much for my
health. If ever I go down, Sophie, it's going to be bad for a lot of
us. So I'm going to shut her mouth by marrying her. I think I'd have
married her anyway. Now you've got the strength of the whole thing,
Sophie."

He resumed the attitude he had held on her entrance, and accepting
this as a dismissal she withdrew. Larry grinned to himself with some
cynicism over this touch of human nature. Here was old Sophie Lengholm,
daughter of criminal parents, married to a man even now in prison for
an attack on a police officer that was only just short of murder, and
herself a not inconsiderable ally in all sorts of wickedness for years,
turning squeamish over what she thought was an affair of morals. Women
were queer cattle. Well, anyway, she could be relied upon now that he
had put matters straight for her. Quite apart from all considerations
of money she would risk too much if she played any monkey business with
him. He trusted none over whom he could not crack a whip.

Meantime, alone in her room Penelope was trying to decide upon some
course of action. Her head ached with the effort to see some solution.
She had no doubt that Larry Hughes had meant what he said when he
declared his intention to marry her. The very audacity by which he
had trapped her showed that there was no length to which he was not
prepared to go. She was afraid, but she told herself that she must not
let her faculties become paralysed. He could not force her to marry
him. Such things were not done these days. At all costs she must try to
get some word to London. The construction that would be put upon her
absence was appallingly plain to her. But how? Her baffled mind beat
wildly about the problem.

Gradually she became more collected. If an opportunity was to come for
a way out she must look for it. She wondered if it would be possible to
throw Larry off his guard. Could he be duped by an apparent acceptance
of the situation on her part until such time as she found an avenue of
escape? If he could be lulled into relaxing his precautions she might
at the worst get some word to the local police or perhaps even to Labar.

She doubted if she had the nerve to hold her emotions and her fears in
control to that extent, but even while she reflected she was fingering
one of the dresses on the bed. And scarcely conscious of what she was
doing she changed and wandered out down the old oaken staircase.

An uneasy feeling that hidden eyes were watching her every movement
possessed her, but that she put down to her shaken nerves. A gloomy
quiet brooded over the house. Once she gently opened one of the massive
doors and peeped into a sombre panelled room furnished as a study. A
dog growled and she had a glimpse of a big Alsatian wolf-hound rising
menacingly from the hearth. She hurriedly closed the door. Apart from
that she heard no sound of life about the place.

Avoiding the morning-room which she had seen Hughes enter on their
arrival, she strolled with an appearance of nonchalance that cost
her an effort to maintain into the grounds. They had a derelict and
unkempt appearance. Indeed, viewed from the outside the whole house and
its domain afforded a singular contrast from the well-kept if gloomy
interior.

Ragged and untrimmed shrubs, overgrown flowerbeds, lank grass and
ill-kept gravel paths all told of neglect that, she noted, must have
been deliberately intended to convey an impression to any visitor
straying in the vicinity. The tall weather-beaten concrete wall,
however, showed no sign of deterioration. She followed it round till
she came to the wrought iron gates of the drive. They were closed and a
steel chain secured by an efficient modern padlock held them.

Penelope glanced around. Then she shook the gates. They were
immovable. A wild notion had come to her and she thoughtfully examined
the spikes on the top. They were not so formidable. An active person
with a little care might scale the gates without injury.

She set a foot on one of the twirls of the iron and gripping the bars
pulled herself up. Her hand had reached the topmost spikes and she
was seeking farther foothold when she heard a discreet cough. Tom,
the valet, who had accompanied Hughes, was standing a few yards back
chewing a straw and regarding her speculatively. With as much dignity
as she could muster she lowered herself to the grounds.

"I shouldn't try that again if I were you, miss," he said respectfully.
"You might hurt yourself. Besides, all those things are wired to alarms
in the house."

The girl stooped to brush herself. When she arose she flashed an
ingenuous smile towards the man.

"I just wanted a look round," she explained, "I wasn't trying to run
away. I want to know where I am."

Tom shifted his straw to another angle, and before answering flung it
to the ground. "There's miles of marshes round this place, miss. Acres
and acres with big dykes crisscrossing them and no roads to speak of.
I'd be afraid of trying to cross a maze like that."

"But, Tom--your name is Tom, isn't it?--I can feel the sea."

"Yes, miss. The sea's away about a mile over there." He waved an arm
vaguely to the right. "Difficult to get to and a lonely waste of
shingle if you do."

"I see. Then if there's no chance of my getting away why are you
watching me?"

The glimmer of an appreciative smile showed on the immobile face of the
valet. "I'm not exactly spying on you, miss. Mr. Hughes was afraid that
as you didn't know the district you might get into trouble--fall into
one of the dykes perhaps. So one of us will be always keeping an eye on
you."

She bit her lip. "Very considerate of Mr. Hughes. Do you suppose he
means to starve me as well as keep me a prisoner?"

"I was to tell you, miss, that Mr. Hughes is waiting for you in the
dining-room."

It would be doing an injustice to the imperturbability of the
well-trained Tom, to suggest that he had shown in any manner that he
was prepared for certain contingencies. But Penelope was not lacking
in observation and reason. These qualities were perhaps sharpened by
the emergency with which she was faced. It had not escaped her that the
well-fitting jacket of the valet sagged a little on the right hand side
as though something heavy reposed in his pocket.

She moved closer to him. "You might as well show me the way," she said
and fell into step by his right hand.

They had not moved a couple of yards when she acted. Before he could be
aware of her purpose her hand had dropped swiftly to his pocket and had
closed over the butt of a small automatic pistol. Her surmise had been
right.

He sprang silently towards her but recoiled as he heard the click of
the safety catch and the blue barrel was thrust into his face.

"Now then. Open that gate," she demanded.

"I haven't got the key," he declared, his eyes searching her face for
the slightest sign of hesitation, of distraction. Give him one fraction
of a second start, he told himself, and he would have that gun away
from her.

But Penelope was keyed for anything. "If you don't open that gate in
ten seconds," she said, with some surprise at the steadiness of her own
voice, "I shall shoot."

Sullenly he began to search his pockets. "One," she counted,
"two--three--four--five--six--seven----"

A key rattled on the ground in front of her. She made no move to touch
it. His intention was evident to her. "Pick that up," she ordered, "and
open the gate. Quick. Eight--nine."

His face still a mask he reluctantly obeyed. Tense she waited for the
faintest suspicious movement. The key slipped into the lock.

A hand stole from behind her and struck her wrist a sharp blow. The
pistol dropped from her grip. The soft voice of Larry Hughes was in
her ears as she saw him stoop to recover the weapon.

"Don't you think we've had enough of this nonsense, Penelope?" he
asked.




                              CHAPTER XI


To one approaching casually Adèle Gertstein might have seemed asleep.
She reclined with a sort of feline luxuriousness in a deck chair on
one of the wide terraces of "Maid's Retreat," and beneath her the
green sweep of the park, and the rolling woodlands and cornfields of
Hampshire, smiled lazily back at the sun.

But her eyes were wide open, fixed unseeingly on the splendours of the
country. She was trying to think, a process somewhat difficult to one
whose actions were habitually guided by impulse. The effort always
exasperated her, and only the most formidable and immediate necessity
drove her to it.

She roused herself and crumpled the sheet of paper that had lain in her
lap with a venomous hand. "Five thousand pounds," she murmured. "How
the devil am I to find five thousand pounds?"

To the wife of a millionaire such a sum perhaps ought not to seem
impossible. But there were reasons why Adèle Gertstein dare not appeal
to her husband. There were limits to his devotion, and he might well
inquire why £12,000 a year was not sufficient for her needs.

Yet five thousand pounds she had to have. Of course she could get it on
Bonnie Chevalier for the Stewards Cup, if those idiot bookmakers had
not restricted her credit. Just as if she didn't mean to pay. Anyway,
there were other bookmakers.

She tapped a gold pencil between her teeth as she strolled back to the
house and seated herself at her desk. There was only one thing for
it. Why should the woman always suffer? She drew a sheet of notepaper
towards her and began to write:

    "MY DEAR LARRY,--Things are driving me to distraction.
    This man--you know whom--now wants me to find five thousand for him
    within the next week, or he will go to Solly. He has drained me dry
    and I simply do not know where to turn. For the sake of old times
    you might let me have this money. It means very little to you, and
    I will most certainly pay it back very soon. I simply must have it,
    or I am ruined. Perhaps I have been a fool, but I am sure this man
    means business, and it would be awkward for you, too, if things
    became public. So please do, like a dear man, lend me this money.
    Bring it if you can--'Maid's Retreat' is only three hours out of
    London by road.

    "I am practically all alone here. You, of course, have seen by the
    newspapers what has happened at Streetly House. I have not been
    back because there is nothing I can do. Solly calls me up twice
    a day and wails, and, although I am very fond of Solly, I don't
    believe my nerves at present could stand being all day in the same
    house with him.

    "Penelope has disappeared. She went up to town for me the morning
    after the robbery and has dropped out without a word. You would
    think that at least she would have written to me. Solly says that
    some clumsy policeman suspected her of being the burglar, and that
    she has been frightened into running away. It does seem ridiculous.
    Really, if I weren't so concerned with my own tragedies I should be
    worried to death about her. But I expect that she is all right.

    "Now for Heaven's sake don't disappoint me. Bring or send that
    money. I am desperate.--A."

She read the letter over twice, and added fresh underlines to many that
she had already made. Then she sealed and stamped it, and carried it
herself to the post bag in the hall.

That was over and done with. To the fluffy mind of Adèle Gertstein
the situation was met. There were other and more special immediate
interests to engage her. There was, for instance, her toilet for
Goodwood. An hour before she had cancelled all her arrangements for
the race meeting. Who could be thrilled by such an event with black
tragedy lurking in the imminent background? She had done with all the
foibles and vanities of this life. Her maid, with the suspicion of a
wink, had conveyed her decision to those concerned, and preparations
had gone forward without a hitch, for her servants knew Mrs. Gertstein.

So she conferred with her maid with the deliberation and hesitancy that
the momentous decision of what to wear demanded. In something less than
an hour she was adorned with a gossamer creation of cream with delicate
touches of pale blue, that, as the maid assured her, set off her beauty
to perfection.

For her closest feminine friend could not have denied Adèle Gertstein's
beauty. Still something under thirty, she was tall and supple as a
boy. A complexion of roses and cream called for little in the way of
artificial preservation, although that little she saw was supplied.
Melting blue eyes, a mouth that was inclined to waver a little
uncertainly, or a little plaintively or a little piquantly--it depended
which way you regarded it--and a delicate chin that she could tilt with
charming defiance on occasion, made her a picture on which a man's
eye's might dwell restfully.

"You think it will do, Rena?" she asked, as she studied herself from a
series of angles in the tall mirror.

The maid threw up her hands in an eloquent gesture of admiration. "It
is simply perfect, madam," she declared.

"Then I will go."

It was a run of a mere twenty miles from "Maid's Retreat" to Goodwood,
and, although Mrs. Gertstein was half-an-hour behind the time she had
fixed for her departure her car, in the skilled hands of an immaculate
chauffeur, easily made the distance in time for her to join the group
of acquaintances with whom she had arranged to lunch.

There is no more beautiful racecourse in the world than this arena set
in the wooded Sussex hills. On a perfect July day, with its sense of
spaciousness, of movement, and colour it may woo the most gloomy of
mortals to a sense of rapturous delight in life. The more particularly
will it affect a woman, if she is conscious that all the gay and
elaborate display of summer "creations" worn by others of her sex only
emphasise the triumph of her own dressmaker. Adèle Gertstein felt that
both in herself and her frock she held her own among the fairest of the
aristocracy and plutocracy of Britain.

She strolled in the paddock sunning herself and exchanging greetings
with her friends. She half-hoped that Larry Hughes might be there,
although there were none of his horses running. It might be easier to
deal with him face to face. It was possible that her letter had not
been emphatic enough. Larry could be a hard man. She shook off a tremor
of apprehension, and waved a hand lightly to an earl who was a director
of one of Solly Gertstein's companies.

The serious business of the day demanded attention, and she moved
over towards the bookmakers. "Dickie" puckered his face as he saw her
approach and whispered something under his breath to his clerk. But she
passed him by with her head tilted in the air. She smiled winningly on
another of the princes of the ring, who hesitated for the fraction of a
second and then accepted her bet.

So she made her rounds. There were men, perhaps not so blunt as
"Dickie," who would have told her that their books were full on the
horses she fancied. She did not risk these snubs. There were others who
were quite willing to have the wealthy Mrs. Gertstein as a client, the
more so as on the first race she was content with tens and twenties,
instead of the hundreds with which she had plunged before those other
men had become shy.

She lost on the first race. The second, a selling plate, she increased
her stakes with the idea of still showing a profit if Laburnham won.
But Laburnham, a short-priced favourite, came in fourth and she was
so far three hundred pounds down on the day. That hurt, but, after
all, three hundred pounds was a trifle. There was no question but that
Bonnie Chevalier would win the Stewards' Cup. The three-year-old,
carrying but eight stone, was one of the biggest certainties of the
day. There was nothing that could touch it.

Curiously enough she was almost alone in her opinion among her
friends. Those who had any pretensions to knowledge of racing shrugged
their shoulders when she mentioned the horse's name. But she held
doggedly to her opinion. True he was an outsider at twenty to one,
but then outsiders did sometimes win in face of all the experts. She
did a mental calculation. At twenty to one she would stand to win six
thousand with an outlay of three hundred pounds. If she could get five
hundred pounds on it would be ten thousand. She need not have written
to Larry Hughes after all. Why, she would be several thousands in hand.
She had that optimistic confidence which delights the soul of the
bookmaker, when he beholds it in a rich punter.

The price had shortened to fifteens before she had laid out her
full five hundred, but she felt satisfied. She had by her own wit
and shrewdness got out of her financial dilemma. It only wanted the
formality of running the race.

Someone touched her on the shoulder. She looked round quickly. A beefy
man in a morning coat, that did not fit so exquisitely as others round
about, raised his hat.

"I beg your pardon," he said.

She bowed and passed on. Detective sergeant Malone lifted his eyebrows
interrogatively to the man by his side. "Is that the woman who passed
the stumer cheque?" he asked.

The other shook his head dubiously. "I couldn't swear to it. She's
like her but I wouldn't care to be certain."

All unaware that she had been under the scrutiny of a cashier of the
Midland Bank, Mrs. Gertstein made her way back to the grand stand.
In a few minutes the race would start and the runners were already
taking their places at the gate. She focussed her glasses and tried to
make out Bonnie Chevalier. The draw for places was likely to have an
important bearing on the race.

Her heart moved a beat quicker as she picked out the blue, white and
gold that marked Bonnie Chevalier's rider. The starters danced round in
a colourful welter as they were coaxed to their order. But she had only
eyes for one. She gave a sigh of relief as she noted that he had drawn
an inside place.

The score or so of colours shifted again with a sudden plunge. They
were off. A muffled roar came to her ears, growing in intensity as
the race drew towards her. Bonnie Chevalier had shot to the front
with a cloud of rivals pressing him hard. Her hands tightened on the
glasses. The field began to space out. She lowered her glasses, which
she found difficulty in keeping steady, and leaned forward in tense
eagerness. One of the leaders stumbled and went down, with lashing
hoofs and writhing body. There was a little confusion, and she uttered
an exclamation of dismay, as the favourite stealing out of the tangle
began to draw alongside Bonnie Chevalier.

Her breath was coming fast. Inch by inch the favourite drew level and
there were others at his shoulder. They must have done three furlongs
when the favourite got his head in front. Another furlong and Bonnie
Chevalier was half a length behind the first three, and still losing
ground. Her face grew hard and stony, but she refused to realise
defeat. There was still a hope. But in the next few seconds it was
dissipated. Bonnie Chevalier's jockey knew when he was beaten and eased
up his mount. The race was over for him.

Through her ashen lips Mrs. Gertstein ripped out an unfeminine oath.
Someone spoke to her and she snarled fiercely in reply. The man, an
inoffensive acquaintance who had been among the party with whom she had
lunched, opened his eyes in well-bred surprise, and with an effort she
composed herself.

"I really beg your pardon," she said.

"Not at all," he replied with mechanical politeness. "I hope that you
haven't been hard hit."

"Oh, it's nothing--nothing at all," she said with an attempt at
lightness. "The money doesn't matter, but I hate to feel I've been a
fool."

She rose to go and refusing an offer of escort, made her way back to
her car. There were two more races, but she felt no longer in the mood
to tempt fortune. With one of those quick revulsions to which she was
prone she had given way to a blackness of spirit, in which she saw
herself the stricken plaything of an unjust fate. It was hopeless, she
told herself, to hope that her luck would change. Still there was Larry
Hughes. She would wire to him to emphasise her letter. And if that
failed she would go to see him.




                              CHAPTER XII


It was a blow to Labar that Malone's journey to Goodwood in company
with the bank cashier should have been wasted. He had fully made up
his mind that Mrs. Gertstein was the author of the forgery, and her
identification would have been an important link in the evidence.

His view was based upon something more solid than the lady's
misadventures with the bookmakers. The bogus cheque had been under
much examination. A negative enlarged in the big magic lantern at
Scotland Yard showed by the marks of the pen that the signature had
most certainly been traced. That betrayed the amateur. No expert would
have committed an imitation by such a method. The inspector had made
diligent search for an original signature that would fit exactly over
the forgery, which would have demonstrated the crime beyond all doubt,
for no one ever writes his signature twice in precisely the same
manner. He had failed in that, but he had managed to procure one or two
letters of Mrs. Gertstein's written from "Maid's Retreat," and these,
with the cheque, he had submitted to the scrutiny of a distinguished
analyst who held a retainer from the Home Office.

"No question about it being a forgery," that gentleman told him.
"You've seen that for yourself. But to suppose that from a mere
examination of the writing one can pin it down to a particular person
is asking too much. This sort of thing is not an exact science. But I
can tell you this. The person who wrote these letters used the same
kind of ink as the person who wrote the forged cheque. That ink is
chemically different from that used in the genuine cheques. It is a
fountain pen ink and I should say that it was used on a broad nib."

Which view, taken in conjunction with other matters, carried conviction
to Labar, although he knew that he could not formulate a case that
would be satisfactory in a court of law. By and by, no doubt, some of
the other notes for which the cheque had been changed would come back
to the Bank of England, and the chances were that it would be possible
to trace them back through the various hands in which they had been.
That, however, was likely to be a matter of weeks.

What Gertstein's attitude would be in the event of this crime being
brought home to his wife had been a matter of speculation with
Labar. The little man had insisted on the matter being probed to
the bottom, though, of course, he had no suspicion where it would
end. The inspector thought it probable that he would refuse to
prosecute--perhaps, if his hand was forced, he would declare that
there had been no forgery, and that the signature on the cheque was
genuine. As matters stood there was no purpose in giving a hint to the
millionaire. Labar felt that he would be quite content to ignore the
forgery if he could lay Larry Hughes by the heels. He had an idea, not
very clearly defined, that he might induce Mrs. Gertstein to clear up
many points that troubled him if he could use some weapon to hold over
her.

Luck favoured him. For the letter that Mrs. Gertstein had written to
Larry went to the latter's Hampstead home. Now the Post Office is
jealous of the sanctity of the mail--even that of a crook--and there
could be no tampering with correspondence under official cognizance.
There are more ways of killing a cat than one, however. Some of Labar's
men engaged on the task of watching the house had made themselves on
good terms with the postmen. And so it was that a delivery bag was left
unguarded for two minutes at a certain garden gate. Mrs. Gertstein's
letter was included in the next delivery at Larry's house, but
meanwhile Labar had become possessed of a copy of it.

He whistled a little jig air as he read. Here was a flood of light.
Here also--to vary the simile--were muddy waters which it behoved him
to stir carefully. Before he made any move it would be well to guard
himself.

He went to see Marlow, the detective superintendent, who was his
immediate chief. Marlow read the letter with impassive face.

"Well, Harry? What do you want me to do?"

He looked over his steel spectacles inquiringly at the inspector and
Labar fancied that he could detect the glimmer of a smile.

"This affects Gertstein, sir."

"Well, he's not the only man whose wife has been blackmailed."

"No. But he might make it difficult, when he sees how a big scandal may
come home to him."

"Ah." The superintendent polished his spectacles, and readjusted them.
"You think Gertstein might deliberately try to gum up things to hush up
the scandal."

Labar nodded. Both these men understood something which neither of them
said. "I take it that it's Larry we want, sir."

Marlow leaned back with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and studied
the inspector. "Out with it, Harry. Is it that you want me to handle
this? Losing your nerve?"

The other lifted his shoulders without reply. This, win or lose, was a
big and delicate affair. It was such a case as usually fell to the lot
of one of the Big Four. Marlow had every right to deal with it himself
if he wished.

"Don't get worried," went on the superintendent. "I've got enough
business of my own to attend to." He got up and laid a hand on Labar's
shoulder. "The old man asked me to stand down to give you a chance. I'm
not going to interfere now unless you ask me to. Carry on in your own
way--and at your own risk. Only get Larry and you can go as far as you
like."

"I'm grateful----"

"Nothing to be grateful about. I've had thirty-three years of the
game and next year I hope to be in the country raising chickens." He
chuckled. "Don't forget you may find yourself in a mess. I'd just as
soon be out of it."

He lied, and Labar knew he lied. If there was trouble the
superintendent of the area could not altogether evade responsibility.
The inspector was a thoughtful man as he took his leave.

The immediate thing was to see Mrs. Gertstein. His future action
depended in some degree on what developed from that interview. He had
no desire to arrest her--just now. That would only happen if his hand
were forced. But as an instrument to lead him to his greater quarry she
was likely to be useful.

Five hours later he and Malone were walking through the lodge gates and
up the avenue of chestnuts that led to "Maid's Retreat." He had decided
against a cab from the station, preferring to take the three mile walk.
One never knew what information might be picked up on the way.

The old Elizabethan, half-timbered house nestled sleepily in the
sunshine as they plodded up the drive. A figure rose languidly from a
veranda and made its way into the house. They found no need to ring as
they reached the door. A trim maid awaited them.

Labar presented his card. The girl looked at it doubtfully. "I'm sorry.
Mrs. Gertstein is out."

"That's all right. We'll wait," said Labar serenely.

The maid shuffled her feet uneasily. "I'm afraid that she won't be back
to-day. She's gone to town."

"Well that is unfortunate," lamented the inspector. "After we've come
all the way to see her, too. When do you expect her back?"

"I'm--I'm not sure."

"You've carried out your instructions, my girl," said Labar, with stern
suavity. "Now you take that card straight in to your mistress and tell
her that we intend to see her. She was on the veranda five minutes ago.
You hear me."

This was utter guess work. Labar, so far as he knew, had never seen
Mrs. Gertstein in his life. But the figure that had vanished and the
maid waiting for them by the open door had given him an impression. The
maid flushed and stepped back. Labar gave a jerk of his head to Malone,
who stood his ground while the inspector followed the maid. She halted
as she saw his purpose.

"Go on," he ordered. A little uncertainly she led the way. She tapped
at a door and at a summons to enter pushed it open.

"Well, Rena," said a soft voice. "Have they gone?"

Labar pushed by the maid into the room. "No, Mrs. Gertstein," he
replied. "We are still here."

The woman lounging in a big divan chair regarded him dumbly. He laid
down his hat and stick and nodded to the maid. "You may go," he said.

With wondering eyes she withdrew. As the door closed the woman on the
chair drew herself up stiffly. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?"

"It means that your maid is a bad liar," he said. "Need I introduce
myself? I fancy you know me. I am Detective Inspector Labar."

Her fingers clutched tightly on the elbows of the chair, and her eyes
roamed wildly about the room to come to rest at last on his impassive
figure. "You have no right--" she began furiously.

He smiled tranquilly down at her. "I suggest that you calm yourself,
madam. I shall not bite you."

She rose. "If you think I will suffer this impertinence you are
mistaken."

Labar soberly adjusted his tall figure to a settee. It was bad
manners, but he intended it simply as a gesture to this woman who,
half-afraid and half-angry, was wondering as to the purport of his
visit. He was confident that her curiosity would for the time hold her.

"I beg your pardon. If I tell you that I have in my possession the
letter you wrote to Larry Hughes yesterday, it may afford you some
reason for my insistence."

There were many things that Adèle Gertstein had feared, but this was
not one of them. Her jaw dropped. She tried to say something but words
would not come. She slumped back into her chair trying vainly to recall
what was in the letter beyond the appeal for money. She heard his voice
as from far away.

"I want to know who is blackmailing you."

"I am not being blackmailed."

She regained some command of herself and sat up so that she could see
his face. But Labar was too experienced to allow anything to show there
that he did not wish to be seen.

"Then I will tell you," he said picking his words with some
deliberation. "It is the man to whom you appealed for aid. It is Larry
Hughes himself who has been bleeding you. I want to know who he has
been using as a go between?"

She stared at him with white face. "Larry? How do you know that? I
don't believe you."

In point of fact Labar did not know. But he was pretty sure that the
assumption was right. "You may take it from me. Now to whom have you
been handing over the money?"

The woman's mind was clouded by a haze of emotions. She was
thunderstruck at the accusation that her sometime lover was the real
blackmailer, but beyond that she wondered if this point alone was
the real object of the cool nonchalant man who was watching her with
serious eyes. She must guard herself. Suppose he was seeking to entrap
her.

"I shan't tell you," she exclaimed between clenched teeth.

"Oh, yes you will," he retorted. "Perhaps you don't understand. Shall
I tell you a little story, Mrs. Gertstein? It deals with a woman like
you who had the misfortune to be in a similar position. This lady was
married to a rich husband. She committed an indiscretion--we will call
it that--which gave a blackmailer a hold upon her. His demands grew
more and more insatiable, and although she had a comfortable allowance
from her husband she felt the strain upon her income. She became
involved in other directions, particularly with bookmakers, and it may
be that on one pretext and another she got still more money from her
husband, until it became difficult to find plausible explanations. But
the blackmailer continued to bleed her, and she continued to run into
debt in various directions. Certain bills cropped up that had to be
paid almost at once. Do you know what that lady did, Mrs. Gertstein?"

An incoherent word came from the woman. Labar went on:

"She forged her husband's name to a cheque--a silly thing to do because
the forgery was bound to become known. I can understand a distracted
woman in a moment of folly giving way to an impulse. But she did an
even more foolish thing. She found out who was the divisional detective
inspector and tried to bribe him with one of the hundred pound notes
that were part of the proceeds of her fraud. On that same day an even
more serious crime took place at her husband's house. I don't believe
that she had any direct concern in that, but as soon as the news
reached her by telephone, and she learned that the man she had tried
to bribe was there, in charge of the investigation, she lost her head
completely. That night she drove secretly to London and tried to murder
the detective. Forgery is nasty, madam, but attempted murder is an even
uglier thing."

The detective flattered himself that he had filled in the gaps in his
recital neatly. He had watched every change in the weak pretty face of
the woman from anger and astonishment to fear.

She got unsteadily to her feet, tottered to a writing-desk and buried
her face in her hands. "Does Solly--does my husband--have you told
him?" she asked.

"He knows nothing--yet."

Labar felt some urge of sympathy for her. She was a broken creature.
But his resolve to extract from her the uttermost that might help
clear his path did not weaken. He felt that he had got her entirely
under his sway, ready to answer tamely any questions with which he
might ply her. He had cause to realise that no man could safely
diagnose the reactions of Mrs. Gertstein a second later.

Like a tiger-cat she sprang at him, and there was the glitter of steel
in her hand. On the desk upon which she had feigned to give way there
had lain an ornamental dagger kept as a paperknife. This was the weapon
with which she now thrust fiercely and silently at him. He was taken
almost entirely off his guard, and had but half-risen to meet the
assault, when he felt the bite of the steel in his side.

He clutched at her wrist but she avoided him, and he swung a half-arm
blow at her face as she swung away. This was no time for any chivalrous
methods of fighting. She meant murder.

She held off for a second, her face flushed, her hair dishevelled, her
breath coming in quick, sharp gusts. She watched him warily and as
he cautiously swayed towards her she leapt at him again. This time,
however, he was ready. He parried the vicious blow that she aimed at
his heart with his arm, and catching her by the waist flung her with
all his force backwards to the floor.

Almost simultaneously he hurled himself at her, and this time he
succeeded in seizing the wrist that held the dagger. Harry Labar was
reckoned a strong man, but the woman fought with dynamic, maniacal
strength. He felt her body writhe and twist beneath him, and a little
ornamental table crashed as she tried to pull herself away. Once she
snapped at him with her teeth like some maddened animal. He found
a grip for his other hand and pinned her down till her hysterical
strength should have waned. Her fingers relaxed and the dagger dropped
to the soft carpet. He felt the tension of her resistance dwindle till
at length she was a limp figure in his hold. Slowly and cautiously he
got to his feet and picked up the dagger.

Not a word had come from either of them during the struggle. Indeed the
whole affair had been but a matter of seconds.

She continued prostrate on the floor, but her wide open and alert eyes
belied any idea that she had fainted. Watching her warily meanwhile he
removed his coat and waistcoat and examined his wound. There was a deal
of blood but as far as he could see the hurt itself was superficial.
He wedged a handkerchief in his clothing as a temporary expedient, and
resumed his garments. The woman had not moved.

"Get up," he ordered, grimly.

Slowly she rose.




                             CHAPTER XIII


"What are you going to do now?" she asked in a strained unnatural voice.

The inspector pressed his hand to his side, and his stern gaze dwelt
upon her thoughtfully. "That depends," he answered. "My plain duty is
to arrest you."

"It doesn't matter," she said wearily. "Nothing can matter now. Give me
five minutes and I will be ready to go with you."

The inspector read her purpose as an open book. He shook his head. Five
minutes--one minute--alone, and such a woman in such a state of mind
was ripe for any desperate act. He had no mind to add a suicide to the
other complications of his position.

"I want to ask you a few questions before I decide what course I shall
take. You are not bound to answer them. But I don't suppose that the
whole truth can make your position any worse than it is now."

If it had been simply a question of any crime that Mrs. Gertstein
had committed Labar would have arrested her there and then, without
consideration of his sympathies, for or against, in the case. That,
as he had said, was his obvious duty. He was in a sense violating his
oath as a police officer in not doing so. And in attempting to question
her on a matter which in some measure bore upon the charges that he
knew should be brought against her, he was flagrantly outside the law.
Any one of his Majesty's judges would have commented sternly on such
a procedure. Yet, long since, Labar had made up his mind to take the
chance. Adèle Gertstein might be mad or vicious or both, but she was a
less dangerous person to the community than Larry Hughes. Morally he
was justified. All the same, although his course would not have been
condemned by his Scotland Yard superiors, or by the Public Prosecutor
himself, nothing could save him if any disclosure of this thing should
come about.

The woman looked up eagerly, snatching at the slightest straw of hope.
"Do you mean that if I tell you the truth you will do nothing to
me--that no one else will know?"

"I can make no promises," he said.

She considered with sombre face. "You seem to know most of it," she
said at last. "What else is it that you want to know?"

"Tell me everything from the time you became acquainted with Larry
Hughes in your own words. I will ask you if any points arise on which I
am not clear."

He had to lean forward to catch her opening sentences. In low tones,
and sometimes incoherent sequence, punctuated by occasional questions
from him, she told her story. It was much what he expected to hear.

She had been married to Gertstein for seven years. Two years before
their marriage she had been introduced to Larry Hughes. She believed
him then to be, as she had believed up to that day, a wealthy man about
town, and nothing worse. She had been fascinated, infatuated, by him,
and there had been an affair--she insisted that it had been nothing
but a sort of glorified flirtation, but, though Labar drew his own
conclusions, in which love letters of the most ardent description had
been exchanged. The episode drew to a close when he went abroad some
eighteen months later. She had married Gertstein and she had seen no
more of Hughes until it might have been eighteen months or two years
ago, when she met him accidentally at a race meeting.

"Did you meet on the old footing?" asked Labar, bluntly.

"Oh, no, no," she protested with some slight symptom of colour in her
pale cheeks. "We were simply old friends."

"And it was after this that the blackmail started?"

She assented. It had begun with a simple demand for a hundred pounds,
which was accompanied by one of her long-ago letters to Larry Hughes,
and the intimation that the rest of the correspondence was in the
possession of the writer, and that failing her compliance it would be
sent to her husband.

"You did not go to your husband or take any advice about it?"

"I dare not. I thought the man would be satisfied with his hundred, and
that would be the end of it."

Labar grunted. She went on with her recital. The money was sent to
"James Smith," at what was, as she had taken the trouble to find out,
an accommodation address at Kennington. After she had conceded the
first demand, others came with growing frequency and for increasing
amounts. Always they had to be paid in cash, and always they were sent
to varying addresses and varying names. At first she had been able to
satisfy the blackmailer without great inconvenience to herself, but
the time came when she was put to considerable stress. She sold her
personal jewels, and replaced them with paste. She had dabbled with
moneylenders. She had plunged on race meetings.

"What about Hughes?" broke in Labar at this point. "Didn't you say
anything about this to him?"

"Yes. He urged me to refuse, and to go to the police or my husband. I
have asked him to help me out once or twice, but he made difficulties.
However, I have had about a couple of thousands out of him."

"I see. You didn't know that most of that was going back into his own
pocket. Tell me of this forgery."

"There were a lot of small things falling due, and I knew that I hadn't
the means to meet them. One day I saw my husband's cheque-book lying on
a desk and the thought of taking money from his account came to me. So
I traced his writing. I must have been mad, but it all happened before
I realised what I was doing. Then I changed the cheque and became
frightened as I saw the trouble I was likely to land into. I came down
here, but the more I thought of it the more frightened I became. I
knew of you, and had had you pointed out to me at one or two places. I
thought that if I gave you one of the hundred pound notes, and you used
it, if it ever came to you to handle an investigation into the business
you would understand that you had part of the money and wouldn't push
it too far."

"Half a second," he interrupted. "This extraordinary way you used to
pass me the money. Do I understand that you intended that I shouldn't
know from whom it came, until I was brought into the case? Then I
should find out from the numbers of the notes that I had become
implicated, and should have my hands tied."

"That was my idea. I did not want to give myself away to you unless the
forgery was discovered. I hoped it might pass unnoticed."

"A sanguine, not to say naïve scheme," he commented dryly. "Where does
Miss Noelson come in?"

"She knew I was in trouble, but naturally she did not know all the
details. I couldn't trust anyone. But I told her I had special reasons
for wanting to deliver a note to a man I would point out, and she
agreed to help me. I had a chauffeur's uniform made to fit me and drove
up to town with her. She was to deny that I had left 'Maid's Retreat'
if anyone questioned her. I sent her to do some shopping after we
arrived in town while I hung about Grape Street till you came out. I
followed you to Scotland Yard, and while you were there I went back
and met Penelope and the car. I guessed that you would return to Grape
Street by the same route and we waited for you. After that I went back
to Hampshire and she stayed in town."

"Still another point that I am not quite clear about," he said. "Why
did you come back that evening and lay in wait for me with a sandbag?"

"The news of the burglary had been telephoned down to me. I had talked
with my husband after he saw you. I had talked with Penelope. You had
recognised her and I was alarmed at what you might find out. I saw that
I had made a mistake. I had been told that all police officers would
take money if they could do it safely."

"Thank you," he said ironically. "It is an impression that some other
people have."

There fell a silence for a while. He was thinking, with a puzzled
little frown on his forehead, and the woman with burning eyes studied
him as though to read what was passing in his mind. Presently he spoke
again.

"Has Larry Hughes ever been in Streetly House?"

"Not so far as I know. I have never taken him there."

"You have discussed the place with him--talked over your husband's
collection?"

"At times. They have been quite casual conversations."

Labar racked his brain. This seemed to be leading nowhere. Yet if Larry
Hughes was at the bottom of the burglary it was inconceivable that he
should not have used his acquaintance with Mrs. Gertstein to further
his projects. No doubt those "casual conversations" had told him more
than the woman dreamt. A point flashed to his mind.

"Have you found positions at Streetly House for any persons in whom
Hughes was interested?"

She reflected. "I can't quite remember. I believe there was
someone--ah! yes--an odd-job man. I can't remember his name, but it was
someone with an excellent record whom Mr. Hughes was trying to help. He
asked me to speak to the butler about him, and I think he was engaged."

"You don't remember his name? Was it Law--or Jones--or Lane--or
Wright?" he recited such names as he could recall of the big staff at
Streetly House, and she shook her head at each one. He wondered if
someone had evaded his questioning when he had examined the servants.
"Had this man been engaged in Hughes' service?"

She passed a hand with a weary gesture over her forehead. "No, I am
sure that he had never been with Mr. Hughes. I believe he came from
some big restaurant that was reducing its staff. I've got it. His name
was Stebbins."

Off-hand Labar could not place the name among those he had interviewed.
But, of course, it would be easy to get hold of the man now. Here at
least there would be one link if he played his cards well that would
lead to the conviction of Larry Hughes.

A shadow darkened the French windows and Labar sprang to his feet. A
cold voice addressed him.

"Keep your hands down if you please and don't make any hasty move. I'm
afraid that I'm a little late."

Larry Hughes holding an automatic in front of him stepped into the
room.




                              CHAPTER XIV


Hughes leaned his back to the wall near the window and his gaze
wandered from one to the other while the pistol dangled in his hand. He
could not fail to observe the signs of the struggle.

"I seem to have interrupted a tête-à-tête," he said sardonically.
"What's the tiff about?"

Labar measured his distance. A flicker of amusement passed over Larry's
face, and he lifted his weapon a little. The detective dropped back in
his chair.

"This is a surprise, Larry," he said amiably. "What's brought you here?"

The other showed his white teeth in a grin. "Like the chivalrous idiot
that I am, I have flown to the aid of beauty in distress." He bowed to
Mrs. Gertstein. "I feel compunctuous that circumstances held me from
being earlier."

"So you got my letter?" The woman flashed a furious glance to Labar.
"This man said that he had intercepted it."

Larry flung up a deprecating hand. "Leave this to me, Adèle. Our Mr.
Labar is a truthful man." He broke into a snatch of song. "'He always
tries to utter lies and every time he fails.' Mr. Labar did me the
honour to tamper with my correspondence. Unfortunately his minions,
who should have known better, resealed the letter rather hastily. A
suspicious man like myself applied the lessons of Scotland Yard and
dusted the note with graphite. That developed a man's thumb mark. I
felt sure, my dear Adèle, that you would not have shown so intimate a
letter to any person, and, my dear Watson"--he smiled triumphantly at
the inspector--"I drew the conclusion that Mr. Labar would hotfoot it
down here. And I followed."

The detective laughed. "Better drop that thing and chuck up the sponge
like a good boy, hadn't you, Larry? I always felt that you were too
clever. I'm disappointed in you."

"Crazy with the heat," observed Hughes to Mrs. Gertstein. "I don't
quite get the joke, Labar. Won't you elucidate?"

"The answer will be apparent quite soon," retorted the detective. "I
knew you had audacity, but I didn't think you were quite so childish.
When you went to pick up that letter there would be plenty of my men
about, and I had taken the precaution of keeping a police car where
they could get at it handily. Do you suppose they've not been busy?
I'll bet that they've been right on top of you all the way down.
You're a gone coon, Larry. You're in a trap."

The other laughed. "Still raving," he gibed. "Why, my simple Sherlock,
I knew exactly what you would do. A telephone message to my house to
send my correspondence to a certain place, and a discreet messenger
were all that were needed to get inside your guard."

Labar lifted his shoulders. "You're a hell of a fellow," he sneered.
"What are you going to do about it now? Seems to me that you've got
hold of the tiger's tail. You don't know whether to hang on or leave
go. You daren't shoot me. What else can you do?"

"I don't know that I daren't. Might be a business-like way out," mused
Larry. "But I'd hate to do it, Labar. You're amusing without being
vulgar. I should miss you."

Mrs. Gertstein who had followed the exchange with puzzled face whirled
swiftly on Larry. "Don't be a fool, man. Can't you see that he is
playing with you. He's trying to gain time. Kill him now. No one will
know. Shoot him." Her face was blazing vindictively. "Put him out of
the way. He's dangerous."

The outburst which was not entirely unexpected to Labar, seemed to
annoy Larry Hughes. "Keep quiet, you! When I want your advice I'll ask
for it." He snarled fiercely at the woman as though she were a petulant
child. "Listen, Mr. Labar," he went on in lighter tone. "If you're
reckoning on friend Malone butting in on this seance, or sneaking away
to get help, you've got another guess coming. Mr. Malone is chewing the
cud under some sacks in an outhouse and a length of line wrapped well
and truly round him to prevent him straying. There's no one else likely
to interrupt us."

The detective folded his arms. As Mrs. Gertstein said he had been
playing for time, and Larry had put his finger on the reason. There
was no perceptible change in his face. He still held an attitude of
contemptuous indifference. He knew that he was in a tight fix. That
the woman would not hesitate at murder he had proof. Of Larry he was
not so sure. That gentleman would not run the risk of putting his neck
in a noose at the dictate of panic. If he killed it would be after
calculation, and because there was no other way that would ensure his
safety.

He was sure that Larry was not alone, but he could not guess how many
were with him. Even if Malone was a prisoner there was no harm in
continuing to stall for time. All the servants of the house could not
be accomplices, and in time they must become aware of the queerness of
what was going on. He could not know that six of them were penned in
the servants' hall, with Tom the thin-faced valet, keeping guard, armed
like Larry with a wicked little automatic.

"I'm in no hurry," he said serenely. "I hope that you haven't hurt
Malone much, for the sake of ensuring this private conversation. By
the way, what are you leading up to? You've got something else in view
beyond amusing yourself with light and airy persiflage at my expense."

Larry nodded. "You are an embarrassment, Mr. Labar. I had a faint
hope that I might reach here in front of you, in which case I might
have avoided having to deal with you--somehow." He laid grim stress
on the last word. "I gather that Adèle here, has talked. That may be
singularly unfortunate for both of us."

"For you," amended Labar grimly. He could not resist a little touch
of brag although he knew it was dangerous. "I have got the ends in my
hand, Larry, and when I have followed them up it will be difficult for
you to wriggle out. You've had to come out in the open, and you know
what that means in the long run. Why don't you use your brains, man?
Take your medicine now and get it over. You might perhaps, get away
with seven years, if you helped us to get back the Gertstein things."

"Thank you. Suppose we talk seriously. I said I looked on you as an
embarrassment. You seem to think that you are a menace." He shook his
head, reprovingly. "I'll tell you. From something Adèle has said you
imagine that you can get hold of people who might testify against me.
If you had any vision you would understand that I shall see that those
people are out of your reach. You'll never get evidence against me that
would hang a cat. I hate to see you wasting your time, for, although
you may not believe it, I've developed a kind of liking for you. Now
here's a little proposition for you to think over. I'm going out of the
game--going to settle down and get married. Oh, you may sneer, but I
mean it. I've made all the money I want and I'm going to enjoy myself.
I might get out of the country and snap my fingers at the lot of you.
But I don't want any petty annoyances cropping up. I'll buy you off at
your own figure. What do you say?"

His tone was that of a business man putting a case to another business
man. Labar burst into laughter. "More comic stuff?"

The other lit a cigarette, a little awkwardly because of the pistol,
of which he retained a wary hold, and viewed the detective through
half-closed eyes.

"Don't rush yourself. What's the pay of a divisional detective
inspector? A few hundreds a year. If you hang on and you're lucky you
may be a superintendent and get a bit more. A man with your ability and
some capital could go far in some other line. Or you need not work at
all if you don't wish. I'll give you fifteen thousand pounds and call
it quits."

It was a tremendous offer, far beyond any sum that a police officer
whatever his position might hope to attain by legitimate means. Labar
was astonished at its magnitude. It did not tempt him in the least,
but he affected to reflect. He believed that if he agreed Larry would
sincerely keep his word and pay the money. As to the crook retiring he
was sceptical. That type of man was an organiser of criminal enterprise
as much for the love of the thing as for what he could make out of it.
No, Larry, whatever he said, would never retire of his own accord.
It occurred to Labar that the other could not hold him so lightly as
he pretended if he was willing to give such an amount to ensure his
inactivity.

In any transaction with a crook, Labar, like many detectives, had his
own code of ethics. This was a case where stringent honesty would have
been foolish. He temporised.

"That's a lot of money," he said, slowly, "but where would I be if
anything leaked out?" He glanced significantly at Mrs. Gertstein.

"I----" began the woman.

Larry silenced her with a minatory wave of the hand. "She daren't let
anything be known for her own sake. Your commonsense should tell you
that."

"Perhaps you're right," mused the detective. "But it's too big a risk.
You'll have to raise the ante, Larry."

There was a gleam of triumph in Larry Hughes' face. "I'll make it
twenty thousand," he said. "That ought to satisfy you."

Labar still looked doubtful. He shifted the hand which he had been
pressing to the hurt in his side, and Larry, if he noticed the motion,
paid no attention. He felt that danger was no longer to be anticipated
from the detective.

"I'll think it over," said the latter.

"No, no." Larry was smiling confidently. "Make up your mind now."

Labar held his hand in front of him. The blood had soaked through and
stained his fingers. "I'm--a--little--dizzy," he ejaculated faintly.
"Got it worse than I thought."

Larry lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Mrs. Gertstein. "I--I hurt him,"
she said, and her eyes rested on the blood-stained dagger which Labar
had placed on the mantel. The crook nodded comprehendingly and advanced
towards the detective.

"Let's see what we can do," he said.

For the first time during the interview he was off his guard. In that
instant the detective acted.

He had followed Moreland's advice and a pistol reposed in his coat
pocket. As he pulled it, a little clumsily maybe, Larry levelled
his own weapon. The reports followed hard upon each other and Mrs.
Gertstein's scream rang through the house.

Labar was no marksman even at that distance, and the other's aim had
been hurried. The detective felt a bullet whistle over his shoulder and
heard it crash into the wall. He had no doubt that his own shot had
missed.

The detective drove forward on the instant and saw the ugly muzzle of
Larry's weapon within a yard of his face. He swerved and swung his own
weapon like a club straight at the distorted face of his antagonist.
Larry went down like a poleaxed ox.

Above the hysterical screams of Mrs. Gertstein Labar could hear the
sound of hurrying feet. They might be those of friends or enemies. He
could not afford to risk it.

He slipped through the open French windows and ran, as he had not run
since he was a boy, for the shelter of a shrubbery.




                              CHAPTER XV


From the cover of a group of lilacs the detective inspector glanced
swiftly back at the house a hundred yards away. A man was standing by
the window scanning the shrubbery. Apparently obeying some summons from
within he disappeared, only to return almost at once, accompanied by a
couple of other men. Labar thought that he could recognise one of them,
even at that distance, as a notorious race-gang tough who was known to
be the leader of a group of violent and reckless men which the police
had of late broken up. Billy Bungey had only escaped by the narrowest
margin from a conviction for murder.

The three separated to approach the shrubbery from different angles.
Labar hastily took stock of his position. He could not hope to cope
singlehanded with three armed and resolute men. Nor, if he remained
where he was, could there be any hope that he would ultimately escape
discovery. He took the undignified but sensible course of resuming his
flight.

Cautiously he pushed his way at a trot through the shrubbery. It gave
way suddenly to a piece of park land. A little to his left but some
three hundred yards away, was a belt of coppices. If he could reach
them he stood a chance of dodging his pursuers. To do so, however, he
must swerve obliquely towards the men and lose ground somewhat. To take
any other line meant that it would be a chase in the open, in which he
realised the likely possibility of being run down. He determined to
take the chance of the trees.

Keeping the pistol, that he had more or less unconsciously retained,
poised ready in his hand he made the dash. As he broke cover there was
a shout, and the sharp report of an automatic. That for the instant did
not worry him. He knew that he was out of range. The man who had fired
was now running madly to cut Labar off from his objective. At the very
best before the detective could reach the shelter of the trees he would
be well within shot, and he feared that these men, heated by the chase,
would think little of the consequences if they brought him down.

Once he stumbled over a rut in the ground and the nearest man gained
several yards. Another shot rang out and this time he heard it snarl
angrily over his head. There was fifty yards to go. In ordinary
circumstances he could have made it, but the loss of blood from his
wound had weakened him, and he knew that it would be but a matter
of a few yards at the finish between him and the foremost of his
pursuers--point blank range.

He halted abruptly and swinging in his tracks fired blindly at the
nearest man. He took no conscious aim, for he knew himself for a rotten
shot. He intended it only as a demonstration to check pursuit. But luck
was with him. He saw the first man stop in his stride, and seat himself
abruptly on the ground, nursing his ankle while he cursed venomously
and loudly.

Labar did not stop to admire his fluke. Breathing hard, he made the
shelter of the wood, and plunged on for thirty yards or so till he was
satisfied that he was out of sight. Then, copying a famous historical
example, he climbed into the sheltering branches of an ancient oak, and
rested with fluttering breath, while behind he could hear the crackling
of twigs as his two unhurt pursuers, who had abandoned their companion
for the while, beat about from the point at which he had entered.
He had little fear that they would discover him now, but he quietly
examined his weapon as their steps drew near, then receded, then drew
closer again.

At last he could distinguish their voices. "Like looking for a needle
in a haystack," complained one. "The bloke's made a clean get-away,
Billy."

"Can't have got far," retorted Billy Bungey. "He's hiding out somewhere
close handy. If we don't stop his mouth we're for it. I know the swab
and I'd be glad to make him a present of a handful of lead for old
time's sake. He's as artful as a wagon load of monkeys."

"Poor ol' Jim winged out there," said the other voice. "Hadn't we
better get back to him?"

Billy consigned Jim to the pit, with full-bodied adjectives. "Jim can
look after himself. We gotta find this John if it takes a month. Didn't
you hear what Larry said? We got to stop his mouth one way or the
other. He's got it on Larry--which means the rest of us. I guess he's
got me taped anyway. He must have recognised me."

"But, Billy, this is a dam fool's game. He may be well away and getting
help. We ought to make tracks. If he gets help----"

"Aw--shut up. You make me sick. Whatja think he's going to do? Bring
the village rozzer out by aeroplane, or what? There ain't any police
that he can get here for hours. Got an attack of the funks, ain't you?"

"All the same I'm chuckin' it," returned the other, sullenly. "I'm
goin' to move out of this district swift and sharp and sudden. It won't
be none too healthy if they picket the roads. I guess Larry'll agree.
If you want to picnic in these woods you can do it on your own."

He turned away with decision, and Billy reviling him for a yellow dog
followed. Labar waited till their voices had died away. Then he got
to the ground and began to pick his way at leisure through the copse.
He came at length to a ride, such as is cut in these places for the
convenience of sportsmen, and this rendered his progress easier. So,
following this, he reached another strip of the park, and climbing a
fence, found his way into a wheatfield.

He had but the remotest idea of the way in which he was travelling. But
sooner or later he must come to a road of some sort, and, thus to the
resources of civilisation, which were represented in his mind at the
moment by one thing--a telephone. If he could get to a telephone much
might be done before the day was out.

So at last he reached a country lane and, turning by pure guess work
to his right, was brought at last to a superior road two minutes
before a light car came speeding from the distance. He stepped to the
centre of the road with arms outstretched, and as the car drew up a
big-shouldered young man with a square chin peered suspiciously at him.

Labar remembered that he could not look a reassuring object. He was
hatless, dishevelled and dirty, and a bramble had caught his face in
the wood making a sinister scratch across it.

"What is it?" demanded the square-chinned young man.

"I want a lift to the nearest telephone, and then to a doctor's,"
explained the inspector.

"What's wrong? I'm a doctor."

Labar fumbled in his pockets and found his warrant card, and his
ordinary official card. He passed them over to the motorist. "I'm a
police officer, as these will show you. There are just two things you
can do for me. One is to send a telephone message. The other is to
patch me up and not bother me with questions till some later time."

The other descended from his car. "Right you are, Mr. Labar," he said
briskly. "Since I'm here and the telephone is two or three miles away,
we'll do the patching up first. Now let's have a look at you."

By the side of the car Labar stripped to the waist, and the doctor
with swift gentle skill examined his wound. "Nothing for a man of
your physique to worry about," he declared. "A superficial cut. Chief
trouble is that you've been losing blood. We'll soon put that right.
Lucky for you that I'm a country practitioner, and carry my supplies
about with me." He rummaged in the car. "Reminds me of the old army
days. Here, drink this, while I tie you up."

He passed a flask to the inspector and busied himself with lint
and bandages. Labar, who had been nearer to exhaustion than he had
permitted himself to think, felt a wave of new life in him. He began to
reconsider his plans.

"Doctor," he asked, "would it disarrange your affairs much, if I asked
your help for three or four hours?"

"Well," said the doctor, "I can't say that any of my patients would be
likely to die in that time."

"How fast is your car?"

"I suppose she could do seventy at a push."

"That's good. She can keep up with anything on the road?"

The doctor nodded. "Sure thing."

"Then I'm going to ask you to take me along to a place called 'Maid's
Retreat'--or rather to the road outside the lodge gates. There will
be a Rolls Royce somewhere in the vicinity, and I want to follow that
wherever it goes--if possible without giving the people in it an
indication that we are trailing them. What is your name?"

"Ware. I'm one of the local medicos."

"You won't need me to tell you, Dr. Ware, after what you've seen of me
that there may be trouble. Can you use a gun--an automatic pistol?"

"It's some years since I handled one, but I don't think that I've
forgotten all that I once knew."

"Take this then. I can't shoot for toffee. Don't use it unless I give
you the office. Now let's go."

Labar's original plan had been to get in touch with the nearest
considerable town where there was any reasonable reserve of police,
and have assistance sent out, while he would have also asked for steps
to be taken to notify all the police forces within a big area to keep
a look-out for Larry or any of his gang. That would have taken time,
and it was big odds that the net would have been drawn vainly. But
with a competent man, such as Dr. Ware seemed to be, at his elbow it
might be possible to regain and keep touch with the gang, until an
opportune moment for dealing with them arrived. They would assume, as
Billy Bungey had said, that Labar would be long in getting assistance,
and hampered as they were with one wounded man, if not two--for the
inspector was not sure how much he had injured Larry--they would not be
able to hurry unduly. He suspected that they had not brought their car
into the park. That would mean a long walk down to the lodge gates. He
did not see how they could have got away yet.

Something of what had happened he told the doctor. That gentleman was
smiling happily as he listened. Labar diagnosed him as a fighter by
temperament, who would enjoy a rough and tumble struggle far more than
he enjoyed administering pills.

They passed a side turning, and the doctor nudged Labar with his elbow.
"There's your Rolls," he said. "Your men are evidently still here. The
lodge gates are quarter of a mile up. What do I do?"

"Drive right by them till we are out of sight," said Labar. He had
turned up his coat collar and was leaning well back in the car. "Then
I'll get out and take a look round. They won't be expecting me back."

Ware obeyed his instructions. At a bend in the road some distance
beyond the lodge he pulled up. Labar got down and scribbling hastily in
his notebook tore out a page. "If anyone comes along give 'em that," he
said. "Ask 'em to telephone it as quickly as possible. It's a message
to the local police."

He moved warily along a dry ditch, till through the tall hedge he could
view the drive leading to "Maid's Retreat." The doctor turned the car
round, lit a cigarette and lifted the bonnet. That had been Labar's
suggestion. A motorist fiddling with the insides of his car was not
likely to arouse suspicion if perchance one of the gang caught sight of
him.

A full five minutes had gone when the inspector saw a single figure
hastening along the drive. As it came nearer he recognised the second
of the men who had pursued him. He considered whether he should call
the doctor and arrest the man as he came out of the lodge gates. After
a moment's thought he dismissed the idea. The man must be a messenger
sent to bring the car up to the house. To take him would be but to give
Larry the alarm. The detective resolved to wait.

At the entrance the man took a comprehensive glance up and down the
road, and then went his way. In a little the big saloon turned into the
gates and disappeared up the avenue towards the house.

Labar sighed for half a dozen of the stalwarts of his staff. With them
he would have had the whole lot in a trap. But it was hopeless to
think that he and the doctor could do much more than wait and see, and
it would be folly to take the risk. If he could find the haunt where
these men were lurking the rest would be easy. The thing now was to pin
them down. Burglary or no burglary, Larry Hughes had been associated in
an attempt to murder him. That was enough to arrest him on. If he could
once get Larry between the four walls of a cell, he promised himself
that he would now get at the evidence that would convict. Better to
wait. Besides, there was Penelope. He was sure now that she was being
held somewhere under coercion by Larry.

He had a glimpse of the Rolls Royce coming back, and signalled to
Ware. The doctor closed the bonnet and took his seat at the wheel. The
inspector slipped into the place by his side and as he made himself
as inconspicuous as possible, the little two seater slid into motion.
There was a doubt as to which way the big car would turn at the gates.
That had to be risked. The idea was to saunter by close upon it as it
emerged, as though on affairs that had no concern with its occupants
and thereafter to hold it in sight. Of course if it took the contrary
direction to that in which they were headed there would be delay. But
the doctor was confident that in any case he could overhaul it.

Fortunately they had guessed right. Barely fifty yards in front of them
the big car took the turn out of the gates to the left. It was moving
with deceptive speed, and Ware pushed down the accelerator. In five
minutes the two seater was swaying over the not too good road like a
boat at sea.

"It will make the speed," said the doctor, clinging grimly to the
wheel, "but you can't expect a light car to hold the road like a Rolls."

"Hang on to 'em. That's all I ask," said Labar.

The doctor pressed his hat more firmly on his head and nodded. Hedges
and trees were speeding by them in a wild goggling procession. The
speed indicator was touching fifty. It crept up to fifty-five, wavered,
and went on to sixty. Once they made a wild lurch as they swerved to
avoid a light farmer's trap, and Labar thought that they were over. But
by some miracle the doctor recovered. They took turnings on two wheels,
and swept across a main road in defiance of the warning hand of an
Automobile Association scout, to escape by half an inch crashing into a
big touring car.

"That's the Worthing Road," exclaimed Ware. "They're keeping to the
by-roads."

"Moving east near enough," said Labar. "I wonder if they've spotted us
yet."

"Have a chance if they'd get on to a frequented part," declared the
other. "If they keep to these lanes they're bound to know that we're
following."

The way bent and twisted and it was now only at occasional intervals
that they caught glimpses of their quarry. Suddenly Ware jammed on the
brakes. The car skidded on and came to a halt a yard from an unopened
gate, through which the road took a right angled abrupt bend and ended
peremptorily at a farmhouse. A second's inattention on the part of the
driver and they had crashed through the gate and into a pond beyond.

"Damn 'em. They've switched," exclaimed Ware.

"There was a turning a quarter of a mile back," said Labar. "I'm afraid
we've lost the scent, but we may as well go back and try."




                              CHAPTER XVI


They had been out-witted. The conclusion was forced decisively upon
them as they returned to the road at which Larry and the others had
evaded them.

"There are two turnings. They might have gone right or left," said
Labar gloomily. He descended to examine the tracks. "They've done
neither," he added. "Look here. They pulled up under the shelter of
these trees till we had gone past. Then they backed out and doubled on
their tracks. We've wasted ten minutes. They're miles away by now."

"Got any idea of the place for which they might be making," suggested
the doctor, hopefully. "We might cut 'em off."

"Not a million to one chance, I'm afraid," said the detective. "No.
We're done. I'm much obliged to you, doctor, for your help. It isn't
your fault that they slipped us. We may as well get back to 'Maid's
Retreat' and find out what has happened to the servants and one of my
men."

They took the return journey at an easier pace, and it was something
more than an hour before they were halted at the lodge gates of "Maid's
Retreat" by a uniformed constable of the county police, who demanded to
know their business.

Labar swore under his breath, as he made a guess at what had happened.
He had no animus against the local police--indeed he had been prepared
to ask for their assistance--but he would have preferred that for the
time as few people as possible should know of the dramatic occurrences
of which the house had been the centre.

His fears were confirmed when he made known his identity to the
policeman. "The super's looking for you, sir. Seems to have been a
regular hold-up. They found one of your chaps trussed up in a tool
shed."

"How did you people come to know about this business?" demanded the
inspector.

"The butler 'phoned through to the officer at the village, and he got
through to the super. We came along by car."

They left him and drove up to the house. Before the car had stopped
Malone was running alongside with outstretched hand, and a broad smile
of relief on his face.

"Thank God you're all right, sir. I was worried."

"Oh there's nothing much wrong with me. They made a clean get-away,
that's all. How about you?"

Malone rubbed his head, ruefully. "My hat won't fit for a few days,
I guess. Got a lump like an ostrich egg on my head. Last thing I was
thinking of was that sort of trouble. I was leaning against a tree
smoking a pipe and keeping a quiet eye on the house when an earthquake
hit me. Oh, someone laid me out good and proper. When I came to I was
in the dark and tied up so that I couldn't wink. That's all I knew till
some of the local police found me half an hour ago. I heard shots while
I was lying there and I got the wind up when we found you were missing."

The local superintendent of the County Constabulary welcomed Labar
eagerly. Episodes of this kind were rare among the placid routine of
work in a country district. He was a lean, tall, not unintelligent man,
with mild watery eyes, and a gruff voice. Although nominally his rank
was superior, the advent of a chief detective inspector from Scotland
Yard was something of an event.

He gripped Labar's hand sturdily. "Glad to meet you. Perhaps we'll be
able to twist some sense out of this nightmare now. You don't know
what's happened to Mrs. Gertstein, I suppose?"

"She's gone?" exclaimed the inspector. "Well, I might have expected it."

"Well, you know more about it than we do," said the local man. "Mr.
Malone tells me that you were on some inquiries about the Streetly
House robbery when these people butted in. Do you think they have done
any harm to Mrs. Gertstein?"

"I don't think that likely," said Labar. He pushed his hand through the
other's arm and led him aside. "Look here," he said. "This woman will
be wanted for a crime which has no direct connection with the Streetly
House burglary. She's probably absconded of her own free will. Now this
business is bound to be the talk of the countryside, what with the
servants and the men you have brought here. I want it to be regarded
outside, as merely a daring raid by armed bandits, whose motives are
as much a mystery to us as to anyone else. Can you give your men that
impression?"

"Easiest thing in the world. Since I do not know anything myself, it
ought to be simple to pretend that I'm bewildered."

"Thank you. I'll try and handle the servants. There's some things I am
still in the dark about, myself."

But the flustered group of five or six men and women whom he
interviewed later was able to add little to his stock of information.
All they could speak of was the sudden apparition of two or three men
who, armed with pistols, had rounded them up one by one, and left them
under guard in the servants' hall breathing dire and fearful threats of
what might happen if they attempted any resistance. There they had been
held, a panic-stricken group, until with a final warning not to move
for ten minutes, a thin-faced man who had taken chief control of them,
had slipped away. The descriptions they gave of the men, as usual where
the ordinary person is called upon for a test of observation, varied in
immense degree. That did not so much matter as Labar imagined that he
had himself seen most of the principals in the raid.

"We'll have a look through the house, in case they've left anything
behind," observed the detective inspector to Malone. "They may have
hurried a little too much."

But the search, minute and detailed as the circumstances allowed,
brought small result. In Mrs. Gertstein's room there was evidence that
she had hurriedly packed a couple of bags, and downstairs in the room
where Labar had been received by Mrs. Gertstein and where Hughes had
interrupted them, there was a pile of burnt papers in the grate.

"I evidently did not knock all the wits out of Larry," said Labar.
"Mrs. Gertstein would not have thought of that by herself. She has been
destroying her correspondence."

He bent to examine the ashes, and shook his head. There are methods of
piecing together and preserving even burnt papers if they are not too
far gone. But these had apparently been stirred again and again with
a poker till they were little but impalpable ash. The detective again
discerned the hand of Larry. It was this kind of forethought that had
aided to give that crook immunity for so long.

On a little writing-table was a note heavily sealed with red wax, and
addressed to "Harry Labar, Esq." The inspector tore it open.

"My Dear Labar," it began, "Your hurried departure prevented me from
putting to you an angle of our discussion that you will perhaps have
not considered sufficiently. There is a person in whom if I guess
aright you have an interest. This person is under my charge and
control, and you will understand that some of your activities might
result in prejudicing her welfare. No one would regret that more than
myself, but if you persist I may be too occupied to protect her as
I should like. One of your alert intelligence will appreciate the
awkwardness of my position. I tell you this freely and frankly, because
I know that your personal feelings are so engaged that you will make no
official use of this letter. If you feel inclined to accept the offer
I have made just advertise the word 'Yes' in the personal column of
_The Times_. The goods I spoke of will then reach you without fail
by channels I have thought of. But I strongly advise you not to try any
tricks in this matter. We are scarcely likely to meet again."

The letter was unsigned. Labar smoothed his chin thoughtfully and read
it over twice. It was clever, and he appreciated all its unwritten
significance as Larry knew he would, yet the construction he put upon
it could not have been substantiated if after all he did try to use
it as a piece of evidence in a court of law. Penelope was to become a
hostage, and she would be in danger unless Labar accepted the bribe
to smother the case. While he might go on at any risk to himself, he
might well hesitate to expose her to the vengeance of Larry Hughes. The
thing was possibly a supreme attempt to bluff, but the inspector felt
uneasiness. Larry had the reputation of using any instrument ruthlessly
to serve his ends.

Labar thrust the letter with a sudden and abrupt movement into his
pocket vouchsafing no hint or comment on its contents to Malone or the
superintendent. On that point at least Larry had guessed right. He
would not drag Penelope's name into the case any more than could be
avoided.

"When's the next train?" he demanded. "I don't think we can do any more
here for now."

Malone found him a morose and silent companion on the way to town. The
inspector in fact could not get Penelope out of his mind. He bent his
mind doggedly to consideration of the next steps that should be taken.
He would have to see Gertstein immediately upon his arrival in town.
For in any case Mrs. Gertstein was now a fugitive from justice. She
had tried to murder him. She would have to be run down for that, and
whatever her husband's attitude was, she would certainly have to be
charged with forgery, although Labar could foresee trouble about that,
when he came to tell of the circumstances of her admission to him. A
dour smile broke upon his features as he reflected that this woman was
likely to be an even greater embarrassment to Larry Hughes than she was
to him.

"I guess Larry will find her a difficult proposition to handle," he
said aloud.

"Who? What?" demanded Malone, who had been dozing in a corner of
the compartment, after his vain attempts to lure his chief into
conversation.

"I was saying that Larry Hughes may find Mrs. Gertstein liable to shy
over the traces."

"He certainly ought to be easier to find while she's pinned to his coat
tails," agreed Malone.

"He'll try to get her out of the way," said Labar. "It's a hundred to
one that he tries to slip her abroad. If he goes himself the gang will
take different routes to different places. First thing we must do is
to let the ports have photographs of the lady and descriptions of the
other people. Yes, it's a sure thing they'll split up. Larry won't make
it any easier for us than he can help."

"Then it's time for us to come out in the open, guv'nor. Let the
newspapers have the story. With millions of pairs of eyes looking for
that lot they're not all going to get through."

"Not quite ripe enough for that yet, Bill," dissented the other.
"There's people we're not sure about in this game. We want to rope them
in, and a splurge in the papers would give them warning."

"What you say goes, guv'nor. Only here's our big chance to put Larry
behind the bars. Whether it's for the Streetly House burglary or for
something else, doesn't matter."

Labar clapped a fist into the palm of the other hand. "Take it from
me, Bill, if we can get our hooks on that man on any pretext we'll
keep him. But although we've got him on the run I don't want to go off
at half-cock. Another day or two and I think we'll have enough proof
against him, so that even the wiliest barrister living won't be able to
wriggle him out of a sentence that will keep him out of the way till
we've got long white beards and are out of the service. I aim to make
the case water-tight. Though mind you," he added, a little wistfully,
"if I knew where to find him now I'd give half a year's pay."




                             CHAPTER XVII


No one can tell with certainty how a great disaster will affect a
man. Gertstein, chewing a cold cigar, and with hands thrust deep in
his trousers pockets, strode with rolling gait about the room while
Labar told in carefully selected phrases the truth about his wife.
The little man, whose interviews with the inspector hitherto had been
marked by temperamental outbursts, was now as cold as ice. Labar had
expected either a breakdown or a vast explosion of passion. This frigid
acceptance of a great blow surprised him. He mentally contrasted the
emotion that the financier had shown when the robbery had taken place.

"You tell me that Adèle has gone away with this lover of hers--this
crook?" said Gertstein, as indifferently as though he was discussing
the weather.

"I am afraid there is no doubt of it," agreed Labar. He was wondering
whether the indifference was real or assumed. For the life of him he
could not come to a decision.

"And that she has forged my name and attempted to kill you."

"I have told you the circumstances as I know them, Mr. Gertstein.
Your wife has brought herself within the scope of the criminal law.
Whether she has still kept up a liaison with Larry Hughes it is beyond
my province to decide. Personally I think her late actions have been
caused by pure unreasoning panic."

"That side of it is my affair. She is my wife," declared the
millionaire sternly. "Now we come to your side." He dragged a
cheque-book from his pocket, and seating himself at a writing-table,
poised a pen. "How much is it?"

"I beg your pardon?" said Labar, with suave interrogation.

"How much?" repeated Gertstein, impatiently.

The inspector felt his patience oozing away. It was one thing for Larry
Hughes to try to buy him off. For Gertstein to assume, in this matter
of fact way, that it was only a question of price annoyed him. After he
had tried to save the little man's feelings, too.

"I am not to be bought," he announced gruffly.

The other applied a match to his cigar with cold deliberation. "I have
been long enough in this world to know that every man is to be bought
if the price can be paid," he said.

"You have still something to learn," retorted Labar acidly.

"As you like."

Gertstein fell again to pacing up and down the room. He had taken two
turns when he came again to a halt. "As one gentleman to another," he
said, "I want you to give me your advice. I can see that I have done
you an injustice, and I apologise."

Labar noted the change of tone. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gertstein," he said
with sincerity, "but I'm the wrong person to give advice. So much
depends upon your own feelings about your wife."

"Yes. I see. An old fool and a young woman. Well you can leave
my feelings about Adèle out of the question. I've kept my eyes
shut--wilfully shut. If she broke her neck to-morrow I wouldn't care.
You could shut her up in prison for life and it would not hurt me."
He spoke with level and dispassionate evenness. "But my name is my
concern, and my wish is that it shall not be dragged in the dirt. I
have been a nobody, Mr. Labar. I was born in Petticoat Lane, and my
father was an old clothes dealer. What I am now I have made myself. I
have friends among the highest in this and other lands. The name of
Gertstein might have been among the peers of the realm had I wished.
I have built it up. And it is because that woman bears my name that I
will not fold my hands and watch it become the sport of every muck rake
in the world. I would sooner see her dead at my feet." His bitterness
appeared the more strange and deadly to Labar, because he seemed to
have complete control of himself. It was as though he was speaking on
behalf of some other person. The inspector shook his head slowly.

"I can do nothing," he said. "I must do my best to arrest her, and if
that happens she must be tried."

"I suppose so," said Gertstein, thoughtfully. He muttered something
to himself in Yiddish which Labar did not catch. "There is no way
out. But if it could be, Mr. Labar, that she should not be tried? She
might"--his voice dropped--"she might die. If for instance, she was
arrested and the opportunity presented itself, she might prefer to die.
I could write her a letter----"

The inspector held up a protesting hand. The millionaire had made his
meaning sufficiently obvious, and hardened though he was, Labar was
repelled by the suggestion.

"In plain words you wish me to allow her to commit suicide if she
should fall into my hands."

"You are a hard man," protested Gertstein. "Cannot you see that so
justice would be done? You will have done all that is consistent with
your duty. You will have saved her and me the degradation of the gaol.
You will have made a friend who could do much for you."

"Again, I am sorry. All this is futile, Mr. Gertstein," said Labar, and
his lips set in a hard line. "I cannot swerve from my duty as I see it.
You may rely upon me to save you as much as I can. But while I take my
pay I do my job."

"Very well. You will let me know what happens."

With relief Labar saw that he had reached the end of the matter for the
time. He rose. "Of course. Believe me, I hate this. There is one more
thing. I suppose you don't recall a man in your service named Stebbins?"

Gertstein's small beady eyes fixed themselves steadily on the
detective's face. "I don't know the names of half my servants," he
observed.

"Ah, then I must find out from the butler or the housekeeper or
someone."

The millionaire shook his head. "That is not fair, Mr. Labar. You can
scarcely expect me to lift a finger to help you now. I cannot permit
you to interview any of my servants, or rather I shall forbid them to
answer any questions."

This was an unexpected twist, although at the bottom of his heart Labar
saw logic in the other's attitude. "But this is childish," he protested.

Gertstein rolled the butt of his cigar from one corner of his mouth to
the other. "Childish it may be," he agreed. "For my part I refuse to
have anything more to do with your investigations. I am not going to
help in dragging my own name in the mud."

It was clear that he was in no mood to alter his decision, through
any argument that might be advanced. Labar took his leave without
further pressure. There might be some trifling inconvenience from the
ban, but he could not see that it was likely to interfere seriously
with his plans. What, however, might prove embarrassing, was the fact
that Gertstein himself now had an object in frustrating the work of
the Criminal Investigation Department. Labar wondered how far he would
go. There was something about the little man's manner that made the
detective sure that he would not content himself with folding his hands
and accepting whatever occurred.

This sort of speculation, however, could wait. There were other things
that couldn't. One of these was Mr. Stebbins, the odd-job man who had
been engaged at Streetly House on the recommendation of Hughes. Labar
was a very weary man, but, if as he suspected, Stebbins was one of the
keys to the mystery, it was of importance that he should be looked up
before the inspector would be able to call it a day. Larry would no
doubt learn of Mrs. Gertstein's disclosure and he was likely to act
fast to get the fellow out of the way.

Malone had gone home when the inspector reached Grape Street. So
it was to another sergeant that Labar gave the mission of seeking
out Stebbins, while he himself spent half an hour going through the
statements that had been collected from the Streetly House servants, to
see whether, after all, his memory was at fault, and that he had seen
the man. But there was nothing at all in the records. Labar yawned
drowsily. This kind of thing had to be done, but its tedium bored him.
He could put up with fatigue and hardship while it was a matter of
action. But pinned to a desk, poring futilely over papers was silly. He
let his hands drop to his arms on the desk and fell sound asleep.

It was after midnight that he was awakened by a discreet plucking at
his sleeve. He yawned and brought his feet to the floor with a crash.
Moreland, the Flying Squad inspector, was at his elbow.

"What's the trouble?" grunted Labar. "Hello, Moreland. Why aren't you
tucked up in your little bed like all the other loafers?"

"Cut it out, Harry," snapped Moreland. "Pull yourself together. There's
a bit of a row on. Lucky I was on hand, or you'd have had one of your
people croaked."

The divisional detective inspector listened with grave face, as
Moreland recited some of the evening's happenings.

The Flying Squad man, with a couple of his subordinates, had happened,
in the course of another case on which he was engaged, to be in the
dining-room of a little Soho restaurant, when the sergeant who had
been sent out to find Stebbins, entered with a man who was unknown to
Moreland. They had sat down at a table where a third man was already
eating, and Moreland saw the sergeant introduced. Without hesitation
the hand of the diner immediately sought a water carafe and aimed
a terrific blow at Labar's sergeant. The blow had missed, but in a
second the place was in an uproar and the two were rolling across an
overturned table grappling with each other.

Moreland had dashed across the room in time to knock up a pistol,
which exploded. To add to the confusion, an agitated Italian waiter
had switched the light off. Only such light as could penetrate through
the windows from the street illuminations reached the room. There was
a chaos of struggling men for a while, and ultimately one wriggled
free. Revolver in hand he gained the doorway with the detective in
close pursuit. Firing wildly, he fled through a small by-street and
through the open door of a house which let cheap rooms. At the top of
the narrow stairs he paused, and defied the detectives, who by this
time were reinforced by many uniformed police, to come nearer. Moreland
had taken charge of affairs and, deciding that it was inadvisable to
risk lives by a frontal attack, had left the house with a cordon drawn
around it, and after a word with Labar's man had decided to fetch the
divisional inspector himself.

Most of this he related hurriedly while they were racing towards the
scene of the affray as fast as a taxi-cab could take them. Labar had no
difficulty in surmising with fair accuracy the blanks in the story.

Their cab was halted at the entrance to a narrow street where a belt
of uniformed men held back a thin crowd. They descended and pushed
their way through, and the detective sergeant who had brought about the
episode joined them.

"Well, Marr?" said Labar. "I suppose that's Stebbins up there?" He
jerked his head to the dismal three-storeyed house where most of the
eyes were focussed.

"That's the man, sir."

"How did you locate him?"

In a few quick succinct sentences Marr told how he had tried to gain
some information at Streetly House, and been told in the most polite
manner that no questions would be answered. Then he had way-laid the
servants' entrance and made himself friendly with such of the servants
as passed in or out. He learned that on the day of the robbery Stebbins
had complained of illness and had gone home. Since then he had not
resumed his job at Streetly House, but he was known to be occasionally
meeting one of the maids. Marr pressed his inquiries until he found
one footman who had been on friendly footing with Stebbins, and who
on occasion had been with him to eat at a Soho restaurant which the
other frequented. Taking a long chance Marr had induced the footman to
accompany him to the restaurant, where as luck would have it they found
their man.

"Lucky for you that Mr. Moreland was there," commented Labar.

"He was fighting drunk, sir," explained the sergeant.

"Drunk or sober, we can't wait here all night," declared the inspector.
"Find out if there's a skylight to the place. If so, two or three men
had better try to get through other houses and take him from the rear.
I'm going to see whether he's in a mood to talk to. We can't have one
man hold us up like this."

"You're not going up those stairs, Harry," said Moreland. "It's sheer
suicide."

"Oh, I'll be careful," said the other. "If he's drunk and in the dark
it's odds against him touching me. Besides, I may persuade him to see
reason."

"You're a head-strong fool," asserted Moreland with emphasis. "I guess
I'll have to come along too, and dry-nurse you."

"No, you don't. You stay here and watch points. One man is quite
enough. No sense in doubling the target."

The Flying Squad man grumblingly saw commonsense in this. All the same
as Labar quietly stole up to the narrow doorway and crept within, he
collected two or three men and with them posted himself, so that a
swift and sudden rush could be made after his friend if necessary.

It was almost pitch-black within. Labar felt his way along the wall
till he came to the foot of the stairs and then paused to listen. He
could detect no sound in the house. He dropped to his hands and knees
and stealthily ascended the first step, registering a mental oath as
it creaked under him. He remembered that he had failed to retrieve the
pistol that he had lent to Dr. Ware. Well, that would not matter much.
He was not relying on gun-play.

Inch by inch he crawled to the first landing and moved up the second
flight. Not till he had reached the third flight, however, could he
detect the sound of a man's hurried, irregular breathing. He flattened
himself as closely as he could to the outline of the stair and waited,
listening, for a second or two. Then he raised his voice sharply.

"Now then, my man, if you've had enough of this tomfoolery we'll finish
the business. You don't want to be hung for murder, do you?"

He could in imagination visualise the figure at the top craning
forward with ready weapon striving to pierce the darkness below. He
instinctively braced himself for a shot.

A thick voice answered him. "You go away. Don't drive me too far. I
don't want to do anybody any harm, but I won't be took."

It was something gained, at any rate, that the other had hesitated to
shoot. That lonely vigil at the top of the darkened stairs had either
sobered him or shaken his nerve. The inspector slowly wormed himself a
step higher.

"Don't be a silly ass, Stebbins. It won't do you any good to kill
me. Think what you'd feel like when they came to pinion you in the
condemned cell." He crawled cautiously to a further step. "Think of
the hangman adjusting the straps, and the parson reading the burial
service."

"I can hear you moving," said the voice above, and Labar fancied that
there was irresolution in the tone. "Don't you try no monkey business
now."

"You'll have a white cap over your face," went on Labar, "and they'll
take you out in a little procession----"

"Shut up," said the voice ferociously. "You can't frighten me."

"I don't want to frighten you," said Labar. "I don't think you're the
kind of man to be frightened. You've got sense--not like some of those
other fellows. Suppose you give me that gun and let me look after you.
You'll trust me, won't you?"

There was no obvious reason why Stebbins should trust a detective who
was trying to arrest him, but Labar did not feel that this was a time
at which the other would consider the point deeply. He was concerned
chiefly to hold the man in talk till such time as he was near enough to
make a dash. If he could tackle the fellow round the knees, the steep
flight of stairs would do the rest.

"And who the blazes are you?" demanded Stebbins.

The inspector mounted another stair. "I'm Divisional Detective
Inspector Labar," he said. "I'm anxious to do the fair thing by you."

"What do you want me for?"

"I'll tell you all about that later on." Labar's voice was coaxing.
"Come on now. You throw me down that gun and we'll have a talk."

There was a pause. Labar was sure that he was almost within reach of
his man, but his eyes could tell him nothing. It might be fatal to make
a miscalculation.

Something fell behind him and clattered down the stairs. "There you
are," said the voice. "I'll give in."

The detective pulled himself to his feet, and groping forward felt an
ankle. He moved up two or three steps and thrust his arm through the
other's arm. "I knew that you had commonsense," he declared amiably.
"Half a moment till I strike a match. It's as dark as the pit in here.
We don't want to break our necks."

Together they emerged from the front door just as Moreland was thinking
of organising a rescue party of one, and as the crash of glass behind
them told of a smashed skylight.




                             CHAPTER XVIII


There was no charge made against Stebbins that night, and inquiries
from the newspapers which were anxious to know more of the cause of
the affray were met with a stubborn silence. Labar, in fact, had gone
home after searching Stebbins carefully with his own hands. The rest he
felt could wait till he had some reasonable time for sleep. A night's
detention would do Stebbins no harm, and might put him in a frame of
mind to answer some questions that Labar had decided to defer till his
own mind was fresh.

With eight hours sleep, a bath, and a little medical attention to his
hurt, the inspector felt almost as spruce as he looked, when he arrived
at Grape Street in the morning. He cleared up a few odds and ends and
had Stebbins brought to his room. In the cold light of day that man
answered imperfectly to any conception of a desperate gunman. He was a
loose, tall man with a thin sallow face and weak chin. He had neither
shaved nor brushed his hair, and his shifty eyes were sunk in deep
circles. He eyed Labar nervously, as the detective motioned away his
escort, and placed a seat where the light from the window would fall on
the detained man's face.

"Sit down," said the detective pleasantly. "Have a cigarette. You look
pretty jagged this morning."

In silence Stebbins took the cigarette and seated himself with hunched
shoulders on the chair that was indicated. Labar leaned forward and
gave him a light.

"Had time to have a good think about things, haven't you? What made you
fly off the handle last night? Bit jumpy, weren't you?"

"I can't remember anything about last night," said Stebbins. "Must have
been drunk."

"Well, I wouldn't altogether say that." Labar's tone was that of
friendly disagreement. He stirred a little paper package that lay on
the edge of his desk with a long forefinger. "I guess you'd had a shot
too much, but it wasn't drink, eh?"

"Right oh," agreed the other languidly. "I was doped."

"Want me to have that written down?" asked Labar. "You know I may have
to use any statement you may make as evidence?"

"You've got me. I may as well shoot the whole works." He stretched out
a shaking hand and Labar gently removed the package of heroin beyond
reach. "Give me just a nip of that and I'll tell you where I got it."

"No. You must ask the doctor presently. Now tell me why you didn't skip
as you were advised to?"

"Advised to?" Stebbins shook his head blankly.

Labar held a dirty piece of paper in front of him and read. "The point
is full of the greatest possible interest to me. I shall be glad to
see you at some time and discuss it in detail. You will of course let
me know when you are coming. These things can be settled so much more
easily by word of mouth."

There was a gleam of intelligence in Stebbins' eyes that swiftly faded
to be replaced by a sullen mask of bewilderment. "That's Greek to me,"
he declared.

"I thought you were going to come clean," observed Labar mildly. "Let
me remind you of one or two things. I don't know what you've been doing
this past eight or nine years, but if you've been going straight you'll
get the credit, if you don't try to fool me. Now last night I sent your
finger-prints to the Yard and had you looked up. You came out from a
three years sentence nine years ago. Before that you had done terms in
the States and one or two sentences of hard labour here. All of these
are on record. Now this letter." He tapped the paper beneath his hand.
"I don't know whether you've forgotten the properties of gum arabic, or
whether you were too fuddled yesterday to make use of your knowledge."

He breathed on the paper and crossing to the grate scraped up some
dust with his fingers and sprinkled it over the letter. Irregular block
letters appeared between the lines and he thrust the slip beneath the
face of the man.

"See that. 'Panjandrum says get out at once. Splits know of your
business. Get under cover right away.' Now who sent you that? Who is
Panjandrum?"

Stebbins puffed hard at his cigarette and his eyebrows drew together
in an attempt at concentration. "Guess that was sent to me," he said
slowly. "Perhaps someone slipped it to me. I dunno. I must have forgot
it. If I'd read it I would have been where you wouldn't have found me."

"Who is Panjandrum?" repeated Labar.

"Panjandrum. Why! that'll be the boss. I don't know who he is. I've
never seen him."

The inspector thought that quite likely. It was impossible that Larry
had had any dealings direct with this drug-sodden crook. "Who put you
up to this Streetly House business?" he demanded. "Tell me how you got
into that."

"That," Stebbins reflected. "Oh, it was Billy Bungey who gave me the
tip that I could get a job there. He got me some references and all.
Say, there's a nice little bird at that place. She's a peach. You
ought----"

"Did she have anything to do with this business?"

A languid gesture of denial met the question. "Oh, no. Not in that way.
'Course I learned a few things from her."

"Never mind about her for the moment then. Tell me how Billy came to
ask you to bear a hand. What did you have to do, and how much did you
get out of it?"

In stumbling and random phrases Stebbins told what the inspector
believed to be a truthful story of his association with the robbery.
It was difficult always to keep him to the point, and Malone who
was laboriously writing down his statement in longhand clicked his
tongue impatiently at times, as he waited with poised pen, until a few
incisive questions from Labar had unravelled the tangle.

Stebbins was a type of a shiftless cunning species of crook which is
well known to the Criminal Investigation Department. He was a drifter,
weak and unscrupulous, lacking the imagination or skill of more
successful rogues. Without leadership it was inevitable that any of his
clumsy crimes, from smashing a jeweller's window to petty thefts in the
suburbs, should bring him straight into the hands of the police. In
this manner had the terms of imprisonment which had been ferreted out
from the records been brought to him. He had dodged hopelessly to the
United States where he had also been harried, until the lapse of years
had brought him back to this country, where as a minor thief he was
nearly forgotten, to act when occasion offered as jackal to bolder and
more enterprising spirits.

Billy Bungey, it appeared, had stumbled across him by accident at some
race meeting, and learned that Stebbins--which of course was not his
real name--was making a more or less precarious existence by washing
windows at the Palatial Restaurant. There had been one or two small
pilferings and Stebbins confided that he expected at any moment to lose
his job.

With the spacious condescension of a race-gang leader to an inferior
being Billy had hinted that he might find Stebbins profitable work. A
meeting had been arranged to take place later at a public-house a few
hundred yards from Blackfriars Bridge, and there it had been suggested
to him that he might get an appointment as odd-job man at Streetly
House. Billy even had his references all in order. Stebbins was to
apply to the butler and to say that he was the man that Mr. Hughes had
spoken about.

"You go and get this job, first," said Billy Bungey. "Then we'll talk
about what we want you to do."

Stebbins told Labar that, up to that time, he had never even heard of
the Gertstein collection--which was quite likely, since he moved in
circles that would never dream of such a coup. However, he was accepted
at Streetly House, and then Billy unfolded the plan to him in some
part. He was to study the lay of the house particularly, to find out
what steps were taken to protect the jewels, and in fact to learn every
detail that could possibly assist in a raid. This he was to communicate
to a Mr. Blake at the _poste restante_ at Bruges.

"You'll get a tenner a week," explained Billy, "and five hundred
pounds if the job is pulled off clean."

No hint was then given as to the time or method of the robbery. All
instructions would reach Stebbins either by letter addressed to him at
an accommodation address, or through Billy Bungey. It was pointed out
to him that he must on no account seek out the latter unless sent for.

After a few days, a man whom Stebbins did not know, was introduced
to him and he was given some instructions on the art of taking wax
impressions of keys. He was to use his ingenuity to get an impression
of every key that he could lay his hands upon, particularly of one of
a small back door that was rarely used. He succeeded in this, and keys
which were made from the impressions were sent to him to try. In one or
two cases they had to be returned to be tinkered with afresh. At last
all was ready and Stebbins was warned to throw up his job on the plea
of illness. But the attraction of one of the maids had caused him to
delay doing so. He was astonished to read of the burglary on the day
that followed his retirement. The day after that he had been handed
a parcel containing five hundred one pound treasury notes. These had
reached him by a district messenger and there was no indication from
whom they came. Nor, as he frankly said, was there any reason for him
to make inquiries.

"And," demanded Labar, "you never saw anyone except Billy Bungey, and
this fellow who talked to you about the keys?"

The prisoner made a jerky gesture of assent. "That's all I know."

The inspector took the statement from Malone and slowly read it aloud,
now and again pressing home a fresh question to elucidate a point.
Stebbins listened stolidly, and answered with ready frankness. Labar's
face was inscrutable as he finished.

"This is a voluntary statement you understand," he said. "You are
willing to sign it?"

"Absolutely," agreed Stebbins. "It's all true."

He affixed his signature and was taken below for the formality of the
charge. He listened apathetically to the set official words in which
he was accused. Then he was hurried away to Marlborough Street Police
Court while Labar spent a few minutes on the telephone with Winter at
Scotland Yard.

The Chief Constable was affable. "Yes, I heard that you had had a busy
day. Not seriously hurt, I hope. That's all right. I'll be away down
and see you in court. I suppose this man has got to be charged to-day.
You know what that means? You'll have a horde of newspaper men on your
tail. There's the usual gang here now playing solo whist, I believe,
and waiting for something to turn up. Cheerio. See you some time in the
next half hour."

Labar had hoped, but scarcely expected, more than he had got from
Stebbins. There was certainly nothing in what Stebbins had said
that could implicate Larry Hughes directly. Larry as usual had been
remote, aloof from his lesser helpers. It was characteristic of his
methods that he should have used this drug-sodden crook as a blind
tool. He must have foreseen the possibility of Stebbins being traced,
although he had taken every precaution against it. True, Stebbins knew
that Billy Bungey was in the business, but Billy had not been known
as an associate of the master criminal. If it had not been for the
episode at "Maid's Retreat," Labar would never have considered the two
together. There was no likelihood that inquiries which would have to be
undertaken about the "Mr. Blake" of the Bruges _poste restante_
would lead anywhere. No, the trail that might have led from Stebbins
to Larry Hughes had been cleverly smothered. But for the coincidence
of the intervention of Penelope Noelson and Mrs. Gertstein, the C.I.D.
men might well have come to the conclusion that there was no hope of
linking Hughes with the crime.

However, from that angle of the case the hunt was up with a vengeance.
Labar bit his lips as he reflected that it was necessary to act swiftly
if he was to lay Larry Hughes by the heels. The other would be moving.
If there was any precaution that he had failed to take beforehand to
neutralise evidence against him, he would of a surety be looking into
it now. The trouble was that there was nothing which could lead to
immediate action.

It is conceivable that this would have been a matter of less concern to
the inspector had it not been for Penelope Noelson. Spite of himself,
spite of his attempts at strict concentration on the immediate aspects
of the case, he was alarmed for her. It should have been no concern
of his to view her other than as an item in the sum of the case.
His business lay in bringing home a crime to those responsible. The
possible peril of one or another of the people involved in the matter
should not be allowed to affect the main issue. Human nature, however,
being much the same at Scotland Yard as at other places, his judgment
was swayed to some extent.

He betook himself to Marlborough Street where he had to give formal
evidence of the arrest of Stebbins and asked for a remand. The thing
was over in five minutes and he returned to the police station with
Winter to have what the latter described as a heart to heart talk over
the situation.




                              CHAPTER XIX


The days moved with leaden feet for Penelope Noelson. She had come
to know every inch of space in the walled garden, and although she
gazed wistfully through the iron bars of the gate again and again, no
one ever came in sight. Always she felt that certain, if unobtrusive,
surveillance over her every movement. The care with which she was
watched was brought home to her when she took to dropping notes over
the wall in the hope that they would be picked up by some stray
wayfarer. Within half an hour they had been returned to her by Sophie
Lengholm, with a veiled hint that she might be kept locked in her room
if she persisted in trying to communicate with the outside world.

At night the great Alsatian wolf-hound, of which she had caught a
glimpse on the day of her arrival, patrolled the grounds. Not that
that made any difference, for she knew that a key was turned in her
lock every evening, although she did not know that Sophie Lengholm for
reasons of her own, held the key.

Apart from these restrictions she had little to complain of but her
loss of liberty. She saw strange men about the place on occasion
and knew they had long interviews with Larry Hughes, but they never
interfered with her. The servants were always courteous, but firmly
reticent when she attempted to pump them.

Larry Hughes himself treated her with punctilious politeness on the
whole, although there were passages in which the mask was lifted and
she clashed with his savage and indomitable will. These episodes
usually followed a repulsed attempt on his part to make love to her,
and she had learned to meet them with a dignified retirement to her
room.

She tried to meet her situation gracefully, but there were moments when
horror had her by the throat. She was sickened by her own impotence to
meet the march of an unknown destiny. Were the police seeking her as a
fugitive thief? What was at the back of Larry Hughes' mind in regard
to her? One thing was certain. She could not be held indefinitely
as a prisoner in this spot. She contemplated the future with dizzy
apprehension.

There came a day when no man moved about the house or grounds. Sophie
Lengholm met her inquiries with the grim assurance that they would be
back in a little. Penelope knew that she lied. She twisted her brains
for some method of using the situation to her advantage. It was a case
of woman to woman only. They were alone together, save only for the big
Alsatian.

Other things being equal, Penelope knew that in a hand to hand
encounter she would have no chance with the elder woman. She moved
with apparent aimlessness about the house and grounds seeking for
something that might serve as a weapon. At last her eye fell on a short
and heavy poker in the dining-room, and she tested its balance and
weight critically, although with a little shudder. She knew that if she
permitted herself to think she would not have resolution enough to go
on with the thing that was in her mind. But it was either that, or an
unresisting acquiescence in anything that might befall.

She found Mrs. Lengholm in the kitchen, and making no attempt to
conceal the poker which she carried, came straight to the point.

"I want the key of the wall gate," she said resolutely.

Sophie abandoned the table on which she was kneading dough, and brushed
her fingers calmly.

"Why are you carrying that thing?" she asked imperturbably and nodded
her head towards the poker which the girl was clutching with tightened
fingers.

"You will let me out of this place," declared Penelope. "I don't want
to hurt you, Mrs. Lengholm, but if you make me use force----" She moved
a step towards the other woman.

Sophie's face set, and she made an angry gesture. "Don't be an idiot,"
she remonstrated. The girl with white face and tightened lips drew
another step forward. She was afraid that her resolution might weaken.
It was not that she lacked courage, but to strike the other in this
way seemed to her like murder. But she told herself that she had to go
through with it now.

The older woman retreated, and her lips puckered in a shrill and
prolonged whistle. There was the sound of something pounding fiercely
along the corridor and Penelope realised her oversight. She had
forgotten the dog.

She wheeled abruptly to face the snarling animal and she heard a low
chuckle from Mrs. Lengholm. The thing gathered itself for a leap and
Penelope flung up her arm to ward off the attack, and instinctively
closed her eyes. A sharp command from Sophie checked the dog, and it
squatted on its haunches regarding the girl with fierce yellow eyes.

"I don't blame you," said Sophie, easily, as moving back to the table
she resumed kneading the dough. "In your place I would probably have
tried something of the same kind. If I were you I'd go and put that
thing back, and settle down. It'll be easier for you if you are a good
girl."

Penelope's fingers loosened, and the poker fell with a thud to the
floor. There were tears of chagrin in her eyes.

"You go and lie down, and have a nice sleep, now," went on Sophie with
motherly complacency. "You haven't so much to worry about, anyhow. No
need to try and murder the only person about the place of your own
sex. If I was gone, things might be so very much worse for you."

She spoke, as it might be, to a self-willed child. There was no
suspicion of resentment in her tone, but rather a tolerant assumption
that any outburst by the girl was foredoomed to failure. Penelope
dropped into a chair, and her grave grey eyes scrutinised the other
with deliberation.

"Where is this going to end?" she asked.

Mrs. Lengholm administered a final punch to the dough before replying.
"I don't know," she confessed mildly. "Why don't you ask Mr. Hughes?"

"That snake! Ugh!" Penelope grimaced with conviction.

"He's got his faults," admitted Sophie, "but he has a great admiration
for you. You could twist him round your little finger if you agreed to
marry him. He's rich, he's good looking, he's got culture. You'd be
better off than many a princess. I know the man, miss. If he sets his
mind on a thing he gets it. He gets it by fair means if he can, but he
gets it anyway. I have never known him fail in anything that he set
his heart upon. It would be better for you to be dead than to hope to
thwart him."

"I would rather die," asserted Penelope.

"You think you would. That's what the girls say in the novels. This is
the real thing. You are dealing with a man who will stand at nothing.
Believe me or not, Miss Noelson, I have tried to protect you. I can
only go so far. If Larry Hughes takes the bit between his teeth--and he
will sooner or later--there is nothing that can stop him. Take an older
woman's advice, my dear. Marry him."

Penelope tilted her head defiantly. She had tried again and again to
reach some point of intimate converse with this woman only to be met by
polite formulas. Sophie Lengholm had adopted something of the neutral
attitude of a warder towards a prisoner. She had confined herself to
making the girl comfortable, and to seeing that she did not escape.
Now, however, Penelope thought that she had penetrated her reserve.

"We are both women, Mrs. Lengholm. I don't know what hold this man has
on you, but you wouldn't allow----"

Sophie wiped her hands on her apron. "It isn't what I would or would
not allow, my dear. I can go so far; but there might come a point when
Larry Hughes would crush me without a thought, if I stood in his way.
No one can help you but yourself. The easy way out is to marry him.
That isn't so terrible a thing as you fancy--unless there is someone
else."

A faint blush stained Penelope's cheeks, which did not escape the quick
eyes of the older woman. "There is no one else," she said hurriedly,
"no one at all. But you must know how I feel. Now, if you are afraid of
this man, why don't you go away? Why not come with me, now? I can't pay
you anything, but I have friends who would protect you." She clutched
impulsively at the skirts of the other who now stood near her. "Dear
Mrs. Lengholm----"

Sophie shook her off, with a sudden change of manner. "I am not a
sentimental child. Don't waste any of that kind of stuff on me. Here
I am, and here I stay. You'd better go and find something to amuse
yourself. I'm busy."

She turned abruptly away, and Penelope saw that further pleading would
be futile. She accepted her dismissal with such philosophy as she could
summon.

Most of the rest of that day she spent in her own room, Sophie without
any request being made, bringing her her meals on a tray. It was
towards evening that she took a stroll in the grounds, and the dullness
of her thoughts was distracted by the hooting of a car at the gates.
Sophie Lengholm heard it too, and moved swiftly out with the key in her
hand. A minute more and Larry Hughes' Rolls Royce had drawn within.

Hughes himself was the first to descend. There was a blood stained
contusion on his face that lent it an uncommonly sinister appearance.
He seemed about to say something to her, but checked himself, and
turned to the others who were pouring out of the car in grim silence.
He grouped himself with others to assist one man down, and Penelope saw
that blood-stained handkerchiefs enwrapped one of the feet of this
individual. He was assisted into the house by two of his companions,
and then a woman appeared in the doorway of the car. Penelope gave a
little gasp.

"Adèle!" she exclaimed.

Mrs. Gertstein gave a sharp start. The next moment, half laughing and
half crying, she had flung herself into the arms of the girl.

"Oh, Pen," she cried, and relapsed into dry sobs.

Larry Hughes turned a sour face upon them. "Take her into the house,"
he ordered. "Here, Sophie, we've another guest for you. Give Miss
Noelson a hand. And get out some brandy. We can all do with a drink."

Penelope's curiosity was all aflame, but for the moment she dared not
ask questions. She walked with Adèle Gertstein and Sophie Lengholm into
the morning-room, and there Sophie left them, returning in a little
with a small glass which she forced into Mrs. Gertstein's hands. Then
again she disappeared, apparently to carry refreshments to the men in
an adjoining room.

Mrs. Gertstein sipped silently, while Penelope waited till she should
have somewhat recovered herself. What crisis had brought her friend
to that place in Larry's company, was a question on which she could
not but hazard mental speculation. From what she knew and guessed, the
notion that at last the police had hit on something near the truth
occurred to her as a wild probability. Or it might be that Adèle
had been abducted in much the same way as herself, as a measure of
precaution by Hughes. That was the more likely. She tried to think how
it might affect her own case. Did it bode good or evil for her?

As she finished the brandy, Mrs. Gertstein's drooping shoulders
straightened up, and her dull eyes brightened. She slipped off her coat
and hat and threw them nonchalantly to the floor.

"Have you a cigarette, Pen?" she asked. "I've had the very devil of a
time."




                              CHAPTER XX


"Allow me, madam."

Larry Hughes stood beside them, a gold cigarette case open in his hand.
He had entered so silently that neither of them had heard him. Mrs.
Gertstein delicately selected a cigarette, and he offered the case to
Penelope who shook her head. He showed his white teeth in a smile.

"We three should have no secrets from each other," he said blandly. "We
are now allies in a common cause--our own safety. The harsh and brutal
methods of your friend Mr. Labar, Miss Noelson, have resulted in my
offering harbourage to this lady here. I am sure that you will be as
delighted as I am to have her company on our travels."

"Travels?"

"Where are----"

Both women spoke simultaneously. He held up a slim white hand. "Don't
be alarmed. We are safe enough for the moment. I doubt if Scotland Yard
knows where we are within fifty miles. But I have enough respect for
them to suppose that they will some time or other find out. In plain
words they are likely to make the place too hot for me--for us. So we
shall leave this place within the next day or two, as soon as I am able
to make arrangements.

"I must let Solly know that I am safe," said Mrs. Gertstein.

His smile contorted into a contemptuous sneer. "Your amiable and
anxious husband has no doubt had a story told him by Labar by this
time," he said. "He will be under no great concern as to your safety.
He will believe that you have eloped with me."

Adèle Gertstein started to her feet and her eyebrows drew together.
"You beast," she said.

He waved his hand impatiently. "My dear girl," he said, "I have
always been tempted to admire your beauty rather than your brains. I
am stating a fact. You elected to come away with me. What can your
estimable Gertstein think?"

"I don't care what he thinks. I shall write to him this minute," she
retorted.

"If I didn't know you so well, I might think that you were in love
with your husband," he declared. "Upon my soul I am beginning to be
sorry I cluttered myself up with you." He menaced her fiercely with a
forefinger. "How long do you think it would be after you had written
to him, before Labar would have you in the dock? What is it that the
police want you for? Attempted murder! Forgery! Do you think that the
detectives will not be watching to get a line on you? You poor fool!
From now on you will not lift a finger without my permission, or I
will throw you to the police." He banged his fist fiercely on to a
table and glared at her. "Do you get that? Ten, perhaps fifteen years
in Aylesbury. That's what is waiting for you if you start any funny
business."

She flung up an arm as though she feared a physical assault, and indeed
during his tirade it seemed as though he was restraining himself from
striking her only by an effort. "I didn't understand, Larry," she said,
shrinking from him. "Of course you are right. I will do whatever you
say."

"I think you will," he returned grimly. "I think you will eat out of my
hand before I am finished with you."

He turned with an abrupt change of manner to Penelope. "I am sorry to
have inflicted this scene upon you, Miss Noelson. It is necessary that
people who deal with me should know where they stand."

There was an inflection in his tone that told her she might apply the
lesson to herself. She met the hint scornfully.

"I have had some examples of your methods," she retorted.

"Then I hope that they have not been lost on you," he replied, and
thrusting his hands deep in his pockets walked from the room.

It was a minute or two before either woman spoke. Then Mrs. Gertstein
flung the stub of her cigarette through the open window. "What a devil
that man is," she observed. "How did you come to get here, Pen?"

"Never mind about that," said Penelope. "He may be back at any moment.
Tell me, is it true what he said? Are you escaping from the police?"

The eyes of Mrs. Gertstein avoided her. "In a way--yes," she confessed
in a low voice. "I've got into a mess, Pen."

"And it is for attempted murder as well as for the forgery of that
cheque?"

"I didn't mean anything, Pen. Don't look at me like that. Honestly I
didn't. Things just happened. I was mad. Oh, Pen, if you knew what I've
gone through."

Adèle Gertstein felt sincerely sorry for herself. She turned an
appealing face to Penelope. The other girl regarded her inquiringly.

"Who was it that you tried to kill?" she asked.

"A detective man. He had found out about--about the cheque I cashed. I
was out of my mind. I didn't know what I was doing."

"Detective Inspector Labar--the man you got me to pass a note to?"

The other's attitude underwent a swift transition. "Don't you question
me in that tone, Penelope Noelson," she exclaimed with sudden asperity.
"What right have you to judge me? I employed you out of charity and now
that things are going against me, you think that you can bully me."
She stamped her foot. "I won't have it. Who are you to put on airs and
graces with me?"

It was as though she had not spoken. Penelope's eyes were fixed upon
her, but they seemed to look right through her. She got to her feet
with an air of calm detachment that hid an intensity of feeling, and
gripped Mrs. Gertstein's arm.

"Is he dangerously hurt?" she asked. "Tell me the truth." Her fingers
bit deep in the soft flesh of the other woman. "You have done enough
harm as it is. Now tell me."

Their eyes fought for domination for an instant. The grip on Mrs.
Gertstein's arm tightened, and she saw that in Penelope's face that she
had not seen before.

"It was an accident," she said slowly as though the words were dragged
from her. "I never meant it. I had a knife in my hands and he----"

"Is he dangerously hurt?" persisted Penelope.

"No. It was nothing, Penelope. Just a small cut. I swear it. Why, an
hour later he was chasing us in a car. I am sure that he was not hurt."

Penelope released her arm. "That is all right, then," she said
steadily. "There is only one thing for you to do. At the first chance
you must give yourself up. I don't know how it is to be managed, but
you must do it."

The other woman recoiled from her, her face showing her emotion. "No,"
she declared. "I should be mad to do a thing like that. You are mad to
suggest it."

"And if you don't," cried Penelope, something of her restraint falling
from her, "in what kind of a position will you be? You will be a hunted
woman--the slave of every whim and caprice of this man, Larry Hughes.
Do you think that you will not be caught sooner or later, and what
construction will be put on your flight? Even if the police do not
get you, what kind of a life will be yours? Do you believe that Larry
Hughes will save you at any risk to himself? Much better to face it all
out now than put yourself farther in the wrong."

Mrs. Gertstein shuddered. "I know," she exclaimed. "But, Pen, can't
you see I dare not? I should have to go to prison. It would be too
terrible." She wrung her hands. "I would rather die. They would have
taken me to gaol then, if I hadn't come away with Larry. He is my
only chance. I must stick by him. After all, the police don't catch
everybody. If I could get abroad--to South America or somewhere. I
could live quietly there, until it was all forgotten about."

Penelope dropped the discussion abruptly. It was no use trying to
present the stern logic of facts to this frightened and hare-brained
woman. She was sickened, but she had some sympathy with the panic in
which Mrs. Gertstein was caught. It might be as she said that there
was a real chance of escape for her, although the girl viewing the
position with a detached and more clear sighted appreciation of the
facts, thought it a tenuous one.

She felt that her own plight had become more delicate in some ways.
Her sense of loyalty to Mrs. Gertstein had been shaken, but it was not
absolutely shattered. It was one thing to advise her to give herself
up; it was quite another actively to betray her either voluntarily or
under pressure. Penelope knew that, if she did at any time manage to
escape, that questions would be put to her by the police--questions
designed so that the answers should lead them not only to Larry Hughes
but to Mrs. Gertstein. She had suffered much already in trying to
protect the other woman, but she could not bring herself to contemplate
aiding to bring her to justice. Yet the only alternative was to stay by
her. That, if they were to submit to Larry Hughes' will, was still more
unthinkable.

"Well, Adèle," she said, quietly, "we will talk about it later on. You
are not yourself now. I wonder if Mrs. Lengholm has got a room for you?
You will need a rest."

She pressed a bell, and Sophie, whose face was a little less serene
than usual, stalked into the room. Penelope put a question.

"If you don't mind," said Sophie, "we'll have to put an extra bed in
your room, Miss Noelson. You see our accommodation is rather limited."

"Then we shall be together. That will be fine," said Mrs. Gertstein and
allowed Sophie to lead her away.

Penelope picked up a book, although she was in little mood for reading.
But she was apparently engrossed in its pages when Larry Hughes put his
head in ten minutes later. He nodded without saying a word and stole
quietly away.

An idea had taken root in his mind, and he was not the man to waste
time in putting any project into execution. Mrs. Gertstein had barely
had time to begin to repair the ravages of her toilet with the help of
Sophie Lengholm ere he sent for her. She came into the room he called
his study, a little defiantly, a little frightened. He motioned her to
a chair.

"We're too old friends to quarrel, Adèle," he began in his silken
modulated voice. "I want to apologise for the way in which I spoke to
you just now. It was unforgivable."

She stretched out a small shoe and contemplated it with a smile. One
could almost have said that she was purring. "That's all right, Larry.
I was an ungrateful little fool. I was a little strung up."

She looked sideways at him, and he stroked his lip with his hand to
hide a smile. Even at this juncture in her affairs she could not resist
the opportunity to attempt to flirt.

"That's all right, then. So long as we're friends again." He leaned
back in his chair. "The fact is, Adèle, that I've come to the point at
which I want the advice and help of a woman of the world."

"So." She smiled languorously at him. "That's a compliment. And yet you
said a little while ago that you always admired my beauty rather than
my brains."

There was no sting in the reproof. He laughed lightly. "Did I say that?
The brandy must have made me peevish. You don't realise how highly I
regard you in a thousand ways."

"Did you call me down to make love to me?" she countered. "I thought
you had got over that long ago." Her face suddenly hardened. "At least
you turned our affair to your financial advantage, didn't you?"

A little puzzled frown appeared on his forehead. Larry Hughes would
have made a great actor. "Financial advantage? I don't get you, my dear
girl."

She stiffened a fraction. "According to that detective person, you were
behind the man who was blackmailing me."

"And you believed that? Good Lord!" He contrived to inflect into his
voice just the right mixture of amusement and astonishment at her
credulity. "If I were that kind of dirty skunk, why should I try to
shelter behind someone else? Did I ever strike you, Adèle, as a man who
would be afraid of coming out into the open in a case like that?"

"Do you mean that he invented that story?"

"Invented it. That's one of the oldest tricks of the police detective.
He wanted to embitter you against me. I give you my word of honour,
Adèle. You'll believe me, won't you?"

"Do you know it never struck me in that way," she said reflectively.
She thrust out a hand towards him which he affected not to see. "Of
course I believe you, Larry."

"I am glad of that." He gave a convincing sigh of relief. "Now, Adèle,
I want you to help me. It's about Penelope Noelson."

"You've not fallen in love with her, have you?" she asked with a little
laugh. "By the way, what is she doing here?"

He looked at her thoughtfully before replying. "Couldn't you guess
that?" he said steadily. "She is here because I intend to marry her."

Adèle Gertstein drew herself bolt upright. "Marry her," she repeated
harshly. "You say she is going to marry you?"

"The same thing. I am going to marry her."

Her face betrayed the complexities of emotions that were in her mind.
A quarter of an hour before she would have dismissed from her mind as
an absurdity the idea that she was still in love with Larry Hughes. But
now her vanity was touched at his airy assumption that she would calmly
accept the defection of the man she had once made a conquest. Had she
lost all her attraction?

She burst into laughter--ironical bitter laughter. "That grey mouse,"
she said. "You want to marry her! It is comic."

"I wouldn't have believed it possible," he said gravely. "I believe you
are doing me the honour to be jealous."

"Of that doll," she exclaimed. "Me jealous of Penelope Noelson.
It struck me as funny, but otherwise it is a matter of complete
indifference to me."

Larry tried to follow the trend of her mind. He could not determine
whether she was moved by pique, or whether she was actually a jealous
woman. None knew better than he how difficult it was to probe the fluky
and irresponsible motives which swayed her with every passing mood. If
he was to enlist her for his purposes he must by some means or other
overcome this unexpected antagonism.

He laughed easily. "I was joking, of course, Adèle. If you were a
free woman--but it is no good thinking about that. To tell you the
truth, Adèle, I am forced to this. Your safety as well as mine depends
on closing the mouth of this girl. There are two ways. The one is
marriage."

She thrust forward a strained face. "And the other?"

"The other----" He beat his foot on the floor in a nervous tattoo. "I
won't consider the other, Adèle, till I have tried all other means.
That will have to be the last thing. If I can induce her to marry me
she cannot, even if she would, give evidence against us. As for falling
in love with her"--he made a quick gesture of scorn--"that is the last
thing on earth that I am likely to do. There has only been one woman
with whom I have ever been in love. In any case this will be a marriage
only in name."

As he watched her he congratulated himself that he had struck the right
note. Mrs. Gertstein sat with chin cupped in her hand thinking, or
rather trying to think. It was a few moments before she spoke.

"Is Penelope willing to marry you?"

Larry smiled wrily. "I doubt it. But I think with a little persuasion
you will be able to overcome her scruples. She will see that there is
nothing else for it in time."

"I don't see why I should go out of my way to help you in this," she
said. "It's your own business, Larry."

There was indecision in her voice. The man shook his head as though
with amused tolerance at the slow comprehension of a dull child. "My
dear woman, it is the business of all of us--of you particularly. She
knows much too much. Where will you be, if I am landed in the dock? We
have all got to hang together or hang separately. I am not asking you
to do me a favour. I am asking you to help save yourself. The prison
doors are not far away from you, Adèle. You can take your choice."

That threat clinched the matter as Larry Hughes expected it would. With
all her futility of brain Mrs. Gertstein had a strong instinct for
self-preservation. That alone would smother any lesser feelings she
might have, even her hurt vanity or her sense of friendship for the
girl who had been loyal to her. Her course was straight in front of
her, and in taking it she reckoned nothing of the consequences to
anyone but herself.

"You are right, Larry," she said. "I'll do all that I can to make her
see reason."

"Good girl." He stood over her and patted her on the shoulder. "We'll
pull things off together yet. You had better go and find her and see
what you can do."

He laughed quietly to himself as she left the room. She was tied to him
too closely now to deliberately play him false. And, he reflected, once
he had safely steered his way out of danger from Scotland Yard there
might be fat pickings to be made from old Gertstein if he played his
cards aright.




                              CHAPTER XXI


Although perhaps the most spectacular, in reality the most simple of
the problems that arise at Scotland Yard is the pursuit of a known man
for a known crime. A criminal may escape if there is nothing to link
him with an offence, but once a link is established it is long odds
that, hide where he may, pursuit will catch up with him at last. The
whole world is aroused to the hue and cry. He may disguise himself, he
may flee to the ends of the earth, but even if persistent methodical
search fails to reveal him, some chance will almost to a certainty lead
to his betrayal.

Harry Labar's perspective, from his closeness to affairs, was not quite
so clear in this matter as Winter's. That veteran did not conceal his
satisfaction at the manner in which the investigation was developing.

"You've got Larry Hughes out into the open at last, my boy," he said.
"All you have to do now is to worry him. Keep him on the run. Things
are coming your way. Don't let any slack fit come along and spoil it
all."

"Yes, sir." Labar received the compliment with meekness. It was
something anyway to get a compliment out of the Chief Constable. "But
we haven't got anything yet that will associate him with the robbery.
Stebbins may help us to get at Billy Bungey. There is Mrs. Gertstein.
There is Gold Dust Teddy. So far we're to the good. But we haven't got
the solid evidence yet that will lead to a conviction of the main guy.
He's slippery as an eel and you know it, sir."

Winter chuckled. "Don't come that on me, Labar. Trying to establish an
alibi in case things go wrong, are you? Going to get all the little
fish and let the big one slip through the net? Same old story about
Larry. Well, it doesn't go down with me. You've got to get Larry. See
if you can't get him for the Gertstein job, hook him up for the 'Maid's
Retreat' trouble. Only get him."

"I'm going to get him, sir," returned the inspector, with an inflection
in his voice that caused Winter to glance at him shrewdly through his
spectacles. "I've just a little personal feeling in this matter, and
I'm going through with it."

Winter was looking idly at the ceiling. "Nice girl that Miss Noelson,
they tell me," he said absently. "Doesn't always do to mix sentiment up
with our business, though, Labar."

A slight tinge of colour crept under the tinge of Labar's tan. He
wondered how the other had got to learn of something that he felt was
a secret rigorously locked in his own breast. Perhaps the Chief was
only guessing. "I don't know much about the young lady," he returned.
"She's a nice girl, as you say. But you can rely that nothing will
interfere with my duty."

The thin relic of a smile still loitered about the Chief Constable's
lips as he nodded. "Don't mind an old hand giving you a hint, do you?
There's another thing. When does Myson get back from his holidays?"

Myson was a detective inspector who had not yet reached divisional
rank, who was the senior of the C.I.D. men in Labar's division. Labar
consulted a pad.

"Ought to be back in a week's time," he said. "He offered to come back
when this thing broke, but I didn't think it was worth while bothering
him."

"He's got a pretty sound idea of how things are in your division I take
it?"

"I think so."

"Right. Wire him to come back at once. He'll have to take charge of all
matters here. After this you'll play a lone hand on this job. You'll
want your mind free of everything else if you're going to play the game
out with Larry."

The divisional inspector looked a little doubtfully at his chief. "I
hope you don't think that----"

"That you can't run the division, and handle this case too. I do think
so. I don't want you to fall between two stools. You want your mind
free for this business now it's got so far. You're still the divisional
inspector here, but Myson will act until you want to take the reins. Go
and find where Larry's hide-out is and it won't matter whether you are
away a week or a month."

"That certainly ought to make it simpler," said Labar, and with a curt
and not unfriendly nod the Chief Constable was gone.

Labar drew up the copy for a double crown poster headed with the
sinister big black letters affected by the police for bills of this
kind--"WANTED."

Then with such skill in portraiture as he possessed, added to the
scientific formula for these matters, he drew a word picture of Billy
Bungey, and sent the resulting composition along to the Criminal
Record Office with the request that any amendments might be made and
a photograph added if possible, before it was sent to the printing
department which is one of the subsidiary departments of the Yard.

He dictated a wire to Myson, and began clearing his desk with a mind
from which a weight had been lifted. For there was no denying, as
Winter had said, that the Larry Hughes business was one that ought to
demand his full attention. In the normal way it would have gone to a
chief inspector, who would have had no other duties to distract his
mind while the case lasted.

That done Labar sat down to study a large scale map of the
south-eastern corner of England. He had sound reasons for supposing
that Hughes was somewhere in that angle formed by Kent and Sussex.
The Rolls Royce car in which Penelope Noelson had been abducted, had
been traced for many miles along the Hastings road. Larry's dash to
London and to "Maid's Retreat" convinced the detective that the hiding
place wherever it might be was within a hundred miles from London. He
explored the map with his forefinger. There were dozens of places along
remote roads where concealment might be effective. But Labar washed out
a great many of these as improbable. He had already circularised the
police forces of the area in which he felt that the fugitives might be
located. Larry had been using his car, and a Rolls Royce in a country
lane would be even more conspicuous to a village constable, than the
same car on one of the main roads. Labar had a list of every Rolls
Royce that had been seen about the area he was searching since Larry's
flight. Those of which the numbers had been taken had for the most part
been identified, and wiped out. There remained several which might or
might not have been Larry's.

There had been five such cars seen on the Folkestone--Rye road. One
constable reported that a shepherd on the Romney Marshes had told him
of a big car--which the police officer believed might have been a
Rolls Royce--seen twice on a derelict stretch of road leading into the
marshland.

Labar bent his mind to this point. It seemed the most promising of all
to start from, although it might, as so often happens in these cases
where a man is acting more or less on guess work, prove nothing but a
mare's nest. But if a man wanted to keep out of the way what better
place of refuge could he find than these same desolate Romney Marshes.

With Myson in charge at Grape Street, other ends of the investigation
in London could for the while be left to themselves. Labar decided that
with two men he could rake the district as effectively and more quietly
than if he had a dozen. If his guess was right, it would not do to
disturb Larry.

That evening, with a suit-case and a bag of golf clubs, he descended
on the mediæval town of Rye. A golfer or an artist would find himself
entirely without question at the ancient Cinque Port Town. For his
own purposes Harry Labar was a naturalist as well as a golfer, and
he proposed to examine the flora and fauna of the marshes with some
precision ere he returned to town.

He did not go to one of the old hostelries where visitors might have
become curious and friendly. He took humble lodgings at the house of
a retired Metropolitan police constable who might be relied upon to
keep his mouth shut in any circumstances. Also it is regrettable to
record that Labar's first night in town was spent in the cheaper kind
of four ale bars in the society of local shop assistants, shepherds,
and watermen. They found the gentleman from London, whose name it was
disclosed was James May, an hospitable and genial person with a thirst
for information about the districts that lie north-east of Rye which was
not easily assuaged.

It was six o'clock the next morning when an unshaven man clad in a
rough old suit of Harris tweeds, who might have been a tramp or a
naturalist set out through the old town gate in the general direction
of Folkestone. A burly man in a decrepit Ford car passed him just
outside the Ypres Tower. It was Malone also setting out on the search
for a needle in a haystack. No sign of recognition passed between
the two men. Labar trudged on and in the course of the next hour was
overtaken by an early charabanc on its way to Folkestone. He stopped it
and bought a lift for half a dozen miles or so.

He had no fixed plan. If anything came of this excursion luck would
have to be with him. Away on his right he could see mile after mile of
flat country cut into patterns by a complicated series of dykes, and
save for a rare farmhouse or cottage almost void of any indication of
human inhabitants.

At a point which he had marked on a small pocket map he descended. He
was some few miles from Lydd, but across the wide stretches of marsh
and cornland there was only one low and inconspicuous building which
a weather-beaten sign announced as an inn, "Licensed to sell by
retail wines, spirits, beer and tobacco." How it might find sufficient
customers to support it in that forsaken region Labar did not stop to
inquire. He had already had breakfast, but that was two hours agone
and an able-bodied detective can always support two breakfasts in the
course of his duty. Anyway it was too early in the day for any other
pretext to serve.

An old, old man pottering about the garden was very dubious. The inn
did not lay itself out much for early meals. However if mister could
put up with tea and eggs he would consult his wife as to what might be
done.

Tea and eggs it appeared were the very things for which the wayfarer
had an inordinate craving. He was afforded a seat in the one bare
public room that the inn boasted, while an old lady with crinkled
cheeks began to fussily spread a somewhat stained cloth, and to issue
instructions to the old man who was boiling the eggs in the adjoining
room.

"A lonely neighbourhood this," observed the inspector idly.

"There be worse," said the woman. "Mind ye, John, to keep an eye on
the clock. Them eggs should be on not a mite longer than two and a
half minutes. Yes, there be more lonely places than this. Out there
on the marsh"--she jerked a thumb backwards over her shoulder--"there
be places where you won't see a human soul week in and week out. Here
we get plenty of company, what with the lookers and the traffic on
the road. We've lived here nigh on forty years and we ain't got no
complaint. Leastways its bad for the rheumatics sometimes, and my old
man there he has a touch of ague."

She bustled out with the remark that she couldn't trust that durned old
fool to look at the clock, and continued the conversation through the
open door.

"Reckon you'll be making for Folkestone. 'Tis a tidy walk."

"No. I'm staying at Rye. I've come out to have a walk over the marshes."

She loomed out a bulky figure framed in the doorway. "Then you baint
lookin' for work? You be a visitor? A gentleman?"

"I'm what they call a naturalist. I want to have a look at the plants
and birds and things round about. I thought of walking across towards
Dungeness."

She cocked her hands on her hips. "I know what a naturalist is," she
said nodding wisely. "You pick slimy things out of the dicks and keep
'em in little bottles. We've had gentlemen out here before like that.
Lor-a-mussy, John, them eggs will be as hard as bricks."

In a panic she flung back into the kitchen, and presently she set his
meal before him.

"You baint thinkin' of trying to walk straight across, be you?" she
asked. "You'll be in a turble tangle if you do. Like as not, you'll
lose yourself. Looks clear enough, but, when you get out in it, you'll
find dicks and sluices and whatnot, all ravelling you up like. Then as
you get out near the Ness you'll find the walking not too good."

Labar swallowed a mouthful of hard-boiled egg. "I can find a road, I
suppose."

She shook her head. "They baint what you might call proper roads. Rough
tracks most of 'em."

"Not good enough for a motor car, eh?"

She considered doubtfully. "I've knowd cars use some of 'em. But they
do tell me as they shake the innards all up."

He led her to a discussion on the topography of the marshes in which
the old man came and joined. By the time his breakfast was finished he
had extracted much information that might be indirectly useful in his
quest, but nothing bearing directly upon it. The only point that they
were unanimous upon was that it was a foolhardy thing for a stranger to
explore the marshes without a guide. It was odds that if he persisted
he would have to spend a night in the "hand-cold" and mist-sodden
atmosphere.

Laughingly he waved aside their warnings and since one road was like
another for his purpose set off across the nearest marsh track in the
general direction of Dungeness. An hour's walking on the lonely wastes
convinced him that the old folk knew what they were talking about. His
map and pocket compass helped him only vaguely, for as he branched into
deeper recesses there were twists and tangles, tracks that came to an
abrupt nothingness, and unexpected watercourses that barred his way.
Once or twice he located himself by the aid of occasional "lookers,"
as the shepherds of the district are locally known. After all, it did
not much matter whether he went in one direction or another. He wished
there were more shepherds. If there had been a big motor car traversing
these rough tracts one or the other of them would surely have seen it.

Many hours went by, however, and all his inquiries met with negative
result. He was by now completely lost. An hour had gone since he had
seen a living soul and he sat down to eat a sandwich, with which he had
had the forethought to provide himself, and to consider the position.

He was tired and the sun was hot. He stretched himself for a short nap
after his frugal repast. When he awoke he glanced at his watch and
swore to himself as he realised that he had slept for over two hours.

He stood up and stretched himself, and then suddenly dropped at full
length in the coarse grass and stared intently across the marsh about
which a slight haze was already beginning to rise.

Something less than a mile away a car was slowly making its way. The
distance was too great for him to discern anything more than that it
was a big saloon, but he had not the slightest doubt that it was the
very car that he was seeking. It was utterly improbable that any other
would be risking its springs in this desolate region.

He lay very still till the motor disappeared from sight. Then he took
a compass bearing to the point at which he had seen it. He stuck his
stick in the ground and tied a handkerchief to it, to afford him a very
necessary point from which to work, for by now he knew that it might
cost him three miles of roundabout walking to make his way to the spot
even though it was under a mile away in a straight line. Then he set
off.

Again and again he had to retrace his steps, to find some way of
crossing the many dykes, and he was duly thankful that he had had the
intelligence to make an improvised flag which afforded him a definite
clue to his starting point in the dreary sameness of the marsh.
Something over an hour of tedious walking it took him to cover the
distance. At last a hazardous journey over a slimy plank brought him to
a narrow and almost imperceptible roadway. And there imprinted on the
turf were the slight but unmistakeable tyre marks of a big motor car.

Labar whistled cheerfully as he bent to examine them.




                             CHAPTER XXII


The conveniences of civilisation are rarely noticed until they are
missed. Harry Labar would have given much to have had a telephone
within convenient access just then. He regretted that he had not hunted
in company with Malone instead of separating to widen the search. He
had little doubt that if he followed the car tracks back he must come
sooner or later upon the retreat of Larry Hughes and his followers.
But what then? What chance would he stand if he essayed any step
singlehanded against this gang of armed and desperate men?

His commonsense told him to go back to obtain reinforcements from the
Kent Constabulary or even to wire to Scotland Yard. But he had no idea
how long it would take him to walk out of the marsh, let alone to get
in touch with aid. Many hours at the best was certain. Meantime Larry
and his friends might slip out of the trap--for all he knew, they might
have done so already. Every minute might be valuable.

He felt that he was behaving like an impetuous and foolish youngster as
he bent his head to follow the tyre tracks in the direction from which
the car had come.

The mist grew thicker as he trudged on. A damp seafog was sweeping up
from the channel and he shivered beneath his old tweeds. But for the
track he must have inevitably become lost for it soon became impossible
to see more than a few yards ahead. Once he paused to do a queer thing.
He walked deliberately in the muddy slime of a dyke till his boots were
covered with mud. He twisted his slouch hat into a ball and trod on it.
With his penknife he started little holes in his jacket and trousers,
and tore at them with his fingers till the already shabby suit had
become even more dilapidated. A handful of dirt applied to edges of the
rents added to their verisimilitude. One of the best dressed men at
Scotland Yard had become a perfect specimen of a down-at-heels tramp.

He reasoned that should any unexpected encounter take place in the fog
with any of Larry's people he might thus elude recognition. It might be
a superfluous precaution, but it was as well to be prepared.

So he moved on, slowly, because it was necessary to watch the trail
closely. He reckoned that he had been following the tyre tracks for
an hour and a half when a shadowy outline ahead told him that he was
within a few yards of some building. His pulse moved a beat quicker
as he discerned a yard or two in front of him ghostly tall iron gates.
They were solid enough as he reached out to touch them and a second's
investigation told him of the padlock with which they were secured.

As he stood considering his next move there was a quick yelp. Then a
huge form magnified by the mist to gigantic dimensions, hurled itself
with a low snarl at the bars. Lucky, too, it was for Labar that the
gate stood between him and the Alsatian. The gate shook with the
impact, and swiftly and silently as a shadow Labar leapt away.

He groped his way round the wall that surrounded the grounds while the
dog whimpered and snarled. His wits were moving fast. He had recognised
a breed of dog much favoured for police purposes, and he knew that
unless he took precautions right away his discovery was inevitable.

He made a right angled swerve away from the house. He blessed the dykes
that had bewildered him during the day. There must be one somewhere
at hand. He must find it before the house was aroused and they turned
the dog loose. He tripped over a knot of tufted grass and came down on
hands and knees into six inches of water. Recovering himself he pushed
forward through mud and weeds into the ditch. It passed through his
mind that some of these dykes had water ten feet deep, and that the
weeds could baffle the most accomplished swimmer. That was a risk which
there was no time to consider. He pushed forward and the mud dragged
at his ankles.

Behind him he could hear the mutter of men's voices and someone
speaking to the dog. In the strange way in which fog sometimes carries
sound he heard the snap of the gate padlock and the whimper of the
dog as it thudded through in eager pursuit. He was up to his waist by
now, and he turned and waded along the stream for a few yards. The
wolf-hound drew nearer, and Labar nerving himself dropped to his knees
and wondered if it became necessary how long he might be able to keep
his head below water.

The dog reached the edge of the dyke, and came to a halt whining
anxiously. A man's figure loomed up beside him and a moment later two
more.

"Whoever it was has got across," said a voice that the detective did
not recognise. "No use going any farther in this fog."

"That damn dog's seeing things," grumbled another voice, and this time
Labar identified the tone of Billy Bungey. "If there was anything at
all it was a sheep. Who's likely to get out here in a peasoup like
this. Call your tripe hound off and let's get inside. I'd got three
aces, and I looked like winnin' a pot for the first time for an hour."

"Oh, curse your poker," cut in the third voice brusquely. "That dog
doesn't make mistakes. Listen."

They waited breathing heavily. One of them moved along the dyke in an
opposite direction to Labar and looked into its depths. A bullock came
out of the fog and peered at him.

"There's your ghost," he said mockingly.

"And how did he get across the dyke?" questioned another.

"Anyway, whoever it was won't come back," said Billy Bungey. "Come on,
let's chuck it."

The little group moved away, one of them holding the restless hound,
and Labar waiting till he heard the gate clang, dragged himself, sodden
to the skin, from the ditch. The presence of the Alsatian at the
house had complicated matters. If he was to achieve anything on this
excursion it had to be dealt with. While it held its vigil within the
precincts of the house he could scarcely hope to approach unnoticed.

Nevertheless he determined to have another try. It would be maddening
to get so far and have to return with nothing done. He strode
stealthily in what he imagined to be the direction of the house. The
fog had stiffened even more, and now it was scarcely possible to see a
foot-pace in front of him. Something stirred a pace or two to his right
hand and halting in his tracks he turned his face in that direction and
peered into the mist. He thought he could see an indistinct mass low on
the ground. Could it be that after all the pursuit had not been given
up? On the instant he sprang at whoever or whatever it was.

A frightened half-muffled scream and he was grappling with some
unresisting and yielding body. Then he half-understood and abandoned
his grip with a shock of surprise.

"Good heavens, a woman! Miss Noelson! You!"

"Mr. Labar!" She stared at him, as though at some apparition.

A sudden clamour broke out at the house. She was on her feet now, and
clutched wildly at his hand.

"They have found out that I have gone. They were holding me there a
prisoner. When the dog gave the alarm just now they left the gate open
and I slipped out. You mustn't let them catch me again. Come." She
dragged at his hand. "We must get away."

It was no time for full explanations. Hand in hand they turned and fled
heedlessly into the white blanket of the fog. The dyke that had served
Labar so well barred their progress. He swung the girl in his powerful
grip on to his shoulders and carried her across. A gun shot echoed
suddenly, and he laughed.

"Firing at a bullock I should imagine. That ought to keep them
occupied. Keep on going. You're perfectly safe now. They'll never get
us if we keep on."

He felt the girl's pace slacken, and linked his arm in hers to help her
to maintain the pace. Thrice he had to lift her over dykes, and ever
she became slower and slower while her breath came with difficulty.
Then he felt her pause and sink in his grip.

"It's no use. I can't do it," she gasped. "Leave me here. I shall be
all right. You go on."

He let her sink to the damp grass, and stood for a moment poised in
fierce concentration. Dimly in the distance he could hear the muffled
sounds made by the pursuit.

"I think we are safe enough for the time," he said. "It would be a
million to one chance if they lit on us in this. We might as well stay
here for a while."

"Couldn't you leave me and go and get help?" she asked.

He laughed grimly. "I wouldn't leave you in any event," he said, "but,
if I wanted to, I couldn't. We are completely lost."




                             CHAPTER XXIII


He took off his old tweed coat and, in spite of her protests, made her
put it on to protect her from the clammy cold of the fog. Making her
as comfortable as possible on the damp earth, he lit a cigarette and
paced meditatively to and fro in short staccato strides, ever and again
throwing a thoughtful glance upon the girl.

She lay passive and silent for a while, intent on regaining her
strength, and her eyes followed him contentedly. As for Labar, he felt
a sense of elation that he had at least got her from the clutches of
Larry Hughes, though he chafed to think that he was held from any
farther action till the night was out. He had a shrewd idea that when
the pursuit proved hopeless things would happen swiftly at the house on
the marshes. He could scarcely expect that Larry's people would calmly
await the return of Penelope or himself some time the next day with a
posse of police. The only chance was that the fog which seemed likely
to confine the girl and himself to the marsh for the night, would also
delay any active measures of escape that the others might initiate.

"You are shivering," said Penelope. "I wish you would take your coat. I
feel quite warm. I really don't need it."

He smiled down at her. "I am perfectly all right while I move about.
You rest yourself for the while. Presently we will move on, although I
am afraid we shall get nowhere. Do you happen to have any idea where we
are?"

She shook her head. "Beyond the fact that we are on the Romney Marshes
I haven't the faintest idea. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "It looks as if we may have to spend the
night in the open. It will be a bit of an ordeal for you, I am afraid."

The girl gave a little shiver, but she smiled at the same time. "I
don't mind that. At any rate I am out of the hands of Larry Hughes. I
think I could stand anything better than the dread of what might have
happened."

He stopped abruptly in his walk, and his face became stern and set.
"Did Hughes--has anyone----" He felt some difficulty in framing the
question that was in his mind. "Have you been badly treated?"

"Not physically. There have been hints--threats." She pulled herself to
a sitting posture and spread an arm in an expressive gesture. "I have
been on the edge of terror and despair for days. Oh, it was worse than
anything that you can imagine."

He came and sat down on the grass beside her. She made no resistance
when he caught one of her hands in his own. "Not altogether," he said.
"I think that I can realise something of what you have gone through.
Now I want you to tell me--not, if you will allow me to say so, as a
police official but as a friend--what has happened since you were taken
away from London."

"As a friend," she repeated.

"As something more than a friend if you will, Penelope," he said, and
his voice sounded in his own ears as a hoarse whisper. "As a man who
would do anything in the world to be more than your friend. It is
presumption--I am only a police inspector--you scarcely know me--but
if----"

He paused aghast at his own incoherent ineptitude. The girl pulled her
hand away from him and sat silent staring into the fog. Labar mentally
cursed himself as something worse than an imbecile. How could it be
supposed that this girl could have any interest in him in that way? If
he had waited?

Penelope made an impetuous movement. He felt the rough sleeve of his
old tweed coat about his neck. A cold face was near his own. He flung
his arms about the girl and half laughing, half crying, she settled
there in passive content. How long they remained thus he never knew.
Night was adding a more sombre tinge to the fog, when she gently freed
herself.

"I can't believe it," he whispered. "You the wife of just an ordinary
policeman."

She put her hand in front of his mouth. "A very extraordinary
policeman," she corrected with a laugh. "I won't have you call yourself
names."

He bent and kissed her, and then got to his feet. "Shall we move?" he
asked. "You will be getting chilled."

Hand in hand like two children, they strolled leisurely into the night
and the fog. Although it was a summer night the cold was bitter. There
was no possibility of finding a way out of the marsh till daylight or
at least till the fog waned, but even a purposeless tramp was better
than catching a cold.

As they walked they talked of many things, but at last the conversation
drifted to the abduction of the girl. Although Harry Labar was a lover,
he could not forget that he was also a police officer with an object to
achieve.

There were many obscure points which he felt that she could make plain,
and she spoke without reserve of the events that had brought her into
the case. He interrupted seldom, letting her tell the things in her own
way until she was finished.

"I must have seemed a brute to you," he said. "I know now--I was
perhaps able to guess a little even then--that you were shielding
someone. I thought--God forgive me--that you might even be in love with
Larry Hughes. I had found your photograph in his room, and like a mad
fool I jumped to conclusions."

"You weren't," she retorted with a faint pressure of his hand. "I can't
reproach you with anything. You had to do your duty and you acted
like a chivalrous gentleman. My dear, I felt the meanest creature on
earth when you would not lock me up. As for the photograph I haven't
the faintest doubt that he stole it, or perhaps he got it from Mrs.
Gertstein. Now there are one or two things I want to ask you, if you
will tell me."

Against all the traditions of the Criminal Investigation Department,
Harry Labar allowed himself to be pumped by this slip of a girl until
she knew as much as he did of the progress of the case. She shuddered
and drew closer to him as he told of the fight at "Maid's Retreat," and
now and again she elucidated some point that still remained obscure.

"And now," he said when he had finished his narration, "there still
remains something in the way of cross-examination."

"As long as you are not too ferocious," she agreed. "What does my lord
wish to know? I shall obey the court in every particular. Who is going
to question me--the divisional detective inspector of Grape Street or
Harry Labar?"

"The divisional detective inspector," he retorted. "What I am anxious
to know is what your attitude may be to Adèle Gertstein now? You have
run big risks to protect her. Do you still think that she is worth it?"

She stiffened a fraction. "She was my friend," she said.

"Is she still your friend?" he asked quietly. "You have said as little
as possible even now about her--little that I do not know of my own
knowledge. And things being as they are, Penelope, if she is still your
friend there is only one thing that I can do."

"That is?"

"To resign from the service, and find some other profession that will
enable me to support a wife."

Both had come to a halt and she now lifted her grey eyes to his. "I
see," she said. Then after a pause: "You mean that as a police officer
you will have to go on and arrest her?"

"I mean more than that, my dear. I mean that I cannot suppress what I
believe to be the important evidence of a vital witness."

"However much I begged you?"

He put his arm about her. "I am not going to try to persuade you,
Penelope, whatever I may think of your scruples. My resignation will go
in the moment we get back to London."

"Suppose," she asked, softly, "suppose I told you that I felt freed
from every obligation to this woman who was my friend? Suppose I told
you that I had found her to be as treacherous as a snake, and that I
would stamp on her as readily as I would upon a snake? What would you
say then?"

"I should say that Donna Quixote Penelope had some very good reason.
But honestly, dear, I don't want to put you in the witness box unless
you wish."

She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. "Thank you. I hate the
thought. Still if I am to be a detective's wife I don't want to begin
by crossing my husband-to-be. But it will be difficult for me."

"I know that. Trust me as far as you can."

"That is all the way," she replied. "But if Adèle even at the last had
acted in a different way, I might still have hesitated. After all, she
is a woman you cannot judge by ordinary standards. She is an impulsive,
self-willed child."

Labar checked the interruption that there were many criminals like
that, and the girl went on.

"When she came with Hughes to this place I felt sorry for her, until I
knew that she had tried to kill you. I felt sorry for her but relieved
to think that I had someone with me to whom I might talk freely. But
she was mad with panic. When I suggested that she might give herself up
she would not hear of it. She had some wild idea of escaping to South
America."

"With Larry Hughes?"

"I suppose so. Well, it was decided that we should sleep in the same
room. That evening when we were alone together she used every artifice
and argument that was possible to persuade me to agree to marry him. I
haven't the faintest doubt that some of the reasons she tried to urge
on me were supplied by Hughes himself. She would not have thought of
them by herself. The more I resisted the more vehement she became. She
pointed out how much I owed to her and her husband. It was the only
chance of safety she had. If I did not marry him, he would most likely
abandon her to the chances of the law. If I had the faintest shred of
gratitude or friendship for her I ought to do this thing. Why should I
hesitate to help her? He was a wealthy man. You can probably imagine
the kind of persuasion that she would use."

"I can," said Labar, grimly. "Go on."

"She lost all control over herself at last. She swore like a fish-wife,
and ended by taking an oath that if I did not agree she would accuse
me of being her confederate in the forgery of her husband's cheque,
and the person who attempted to kill you near Grape Street police
station. No one would believe, she said, that I was not mixed up in the
crime. In a frenzy she fetched Larry Hughes who, smiling and sardonic,
promised that he also would manufacture proof that I was concerned in
the Streetly House robbery."

"You poor kid," murmured Labar. "And what did you say?"

"I told them that I did not care what happened to me. There was nothing
on earth that would induce me to agree. Larry laughed and went away.
Adèle reviled me like a mad thing for ten minutes or more, and to
escape the vituperation I went to bed and pretended to go to sleep.
She cooled down at last and I actually did go to sleep. I woke sometime
in the middle of the night and found her bending over me. She said I
had been moaning and muttering in my sleep and that she had got up to
see if there was anything that she could do--but, Harry, there was
a knife in her hand. I could swear to that. I feigned to accept her
explanation, but I slept no more. In fact, since then I have had very
little sleep except at odd hours. I have been afraid."

"Ah." Labar's face was stern. "That was the only direct attempt on your
life that you know of?"

"That was all. She was as friendly as possible in the morning, although
both she and Hughes were persistent in trying to persuade me to alter
my decision. But I was spared much from him because he has been busy
making arrangements to get away."

"Yes. I am going to talk to you about that. Tell me now what would you
have done had not the chance presented itself for you to escape?"

She looked down at her feet and shook her head doubtfully. "I don't
know. If I could summon up courage I had made up my mind to kill
myself. But I am afraid that if it came to the point I shouldn't have
had enough nerve."

The fog had lessened considerably while they walked. A watery moon
made itself dimly perceptible. Labar stole a glance at the girl's firm
moulded chin and resolute grey eyes. "I am glad I came when I did," he
said. "I am afraid that you would have found the nerve."

They walked steadily on ever and again having to divert their course on
meeting one of the numerous dykes. And while they walked he questioned
her, and made mental notes. For Penelope had much to tell. During her
sojourn as a prisoner she had used both her eyes and her ears, and
where she had been unable to draw conclusions the detective was able
to make something in the nature of guesses. He believed that he was on
the verge of a discovery that would simplify, if not the question of
Larry's capture, at least the difficulty of establishing his complicity
in the Gertstein robbery.

The early dawn broke on a weary couple, but almost as the sun rose they
struck a track which followed for a mile or two brought them to a made
road. A little later they met an early rising shepherd, who, though he
eyed with curiosity the shirt-sleeved and dirty man who was escorting a
pretty girl, gave them directions that would carry them back to Rye.

That picturesque town was beginning to stir as they passed through the
Ypres Tower almost to the minute twenty-four hours after Labar had left
it.




                             CHAPTER XXIV


Labar's first business was to interview the wife of his temporary
landlord, the retired constable. Into her hands he confided Penelope,
with instructions that the girl was to be fed and then allowed to rest.

"And what are you going to do?" cried the girl.

He grinned. "Have a bath and a shave and put on some decent clothes."

"And then?"

He pressed her hand. "Then I have to attend to Mr. Larry Hughes. I am a
lazy man. If I don't get on with the business while it's in front of me
I'm apt not to do it at all."

Her eyes clouded, and she clung to his hand as though reluctant to let
him go. "But surely you are going to have a rest, too? Can't you leave
this to someone else? You have some of your men down here?"

Labar disengaged himself. "There is nothing at all to worry about, my
dear. I shall take good care of myself now, I assure you. There will
be no more danger than if I was engaged on a rat hunt."

"Trapped rats sometimes bite."

"I propose to do all the biting this time," he laughed. "Be a good
child, and I'll promise to keep well out of any trouble. If they start
shooting, I'll hide behind Malone. He's big enough."

Blowing her a kiss he retired to his own room. His mask of nonchalance
dropped from him as soon as he was away from her sight, to be replaced
by determined thought. It was not likely that what remained to be done
would be so simple as he would have her believe. Spite of everything,
he had no notion within some miles of the house where Larry and his
gang were located--and, if he found the place, it was nothing more than
an assumption that they would still be there. He had first to find
them and, supposing that to be successful, he had somehow to recruit a
sufficient force to deal with them. That would take time.

He was his usual neat self when he emerged to seek Malone. The sergeant
was standing at the door of one of the less fashionable inns puffing at
a disreputable briar pipe, and making non-helpful suggestions to a lad
who was perspiring over the bonnet of an old Ford car.

Malone moved along the cobbled street to meet the inspector. "Bit late
last night, weren't you, guv'nor? I waited till twelve o'clock for
you and then turned in. Just thinking about another start when Barney
there has coaxed the old Lizzie into a reasonable frame of mind. The
places I took her over yesterday were worse than a toothache."

Labar caught him by the arm. "Let's walk a little way, Bill. I want
you to go to the local police station with me. You can do some talking
while I get on to the phone to the Yard."

Briefly he narrated the happenings of the day and night. "What I
propose to do is this," he added. "We must stop every bolt hole in
sight. All the ports must be notified, and particularly those seaside
towns on the south-east coast. I expect Larry has seen to passports,
but, even if he hasn't, it is simple to leave on some of these day
excursions to France without them. We must borrow as many men from the
local forces as we can, and throw a drag-net over the marsh. I am going
to ask the Yard to send down a dozen or so Flying Squad men by car.
They ought to get here in a couple of hours with luck. There's just an
off-chance that we may find our birds still in their nest. Larry was
away yesterday, and the fog no doubt prevented him from getting back.
He'll have a lot to do, when he does arrive."

Malone quickened his step. "You know something else, guv'nor," he
commented. "You're keeping something up your sleeve."

The inspector nodded and glanced over his shoulder. "You've hit it,"
he agreed. "It's only a guess, mind you, but some facts told me by
Miss Noelson rather bear it out. The sea is, she told me, about a mile
away from the house. Larry as you know has his own yacht. I'm not much
of a sailor, but if it was possible to bring that yacht reasonably
near inshore, it would explain how a lot of the stuff that has passed
through Larry's hands got out of the country without our people getting
a smell of it."

"You mean that the house is a depot for stolen goods."

"Exactly."

"Then why shouldn't Larry use the yacht to get away?"

"Because he probably guessed that steps were being taken to keep an
eye on the boat. We knew of the yacht. We didn't know of this hide
out. It might have been risky from his point of view to bring the boat
over while we were on the alert. It might give away his cache without
helping him. But with the events of the past few days, while things
have been getting warm for him, he has probably been taking steps to
have it at hand for his get-away. That's all guesswork. If we weren't
rushed this morning I could probably confirm it. I'll bet you that he
has been sending wires abroad. Anyway, on the off-chance I am going to
ask the Yard to get in touch with the Admiralty, and have a destroyer
off the coast until we clear up. And if there's a fast motor boat
somewhere handy, we might find a use for it."

Malone nodded appreciatively. "I get you, guv'nor."

There were a few complications in getting the search organised, for no
less than three police forces were concerned--the Metropolitan Police,
the Kent Constabulary, and the Sussex Police. In spite of the risk of
a fiasco that might make him a laughing stock, Labar urged that as
many as possible of the local men who took part in the search should
be armed with shotguns. He was confident that the gunmen who formed
part of Larry's retinue would not be taken without a fight. In the
hands of men who were unused to firearms shotguns would probably be
more effective than any deadlier weapons, although the Scotland Yard
authorities assured him that the Flying Squad men would be armed with
automatic pistols.

Once he had put things in train he hired a car, and with Malone and a
couple of local officers he started for the marsh, having arranged a
rendezvous for the larger part of his forces at the inn where he had
breakfasted the preceding day. Guides had been promised from various
sources and it was anticipated that from the description that had been
furnished by Penelope it would not be a matter of great difficulty to
locate the house where she had been held. A body of police were to
start from Lydd to patrol the shore as far as Dungeness. On every road
over which a car might pass from the district, armed patrols of Kent
police were to be established.

Labar's scheme was to make a wide sweep over the marsh and if Larry
was still in the trap he had little doubt of success. But it was some
little time before the police, who had to be collected from a wide
area of country, could be brought together to put his full plan into
operation.

From somewhere the local inspector who accompanied him, routed out
a constable who was said to know the district, and a farmer and a
shepherd picked up on the way volunteered their services. Both these
latter agreed that the house for which search was being made could be
none other that "Mope's Bottom," which stood far away on the marsh, and
which had been rented many years ago by a gentleman from London. It had
borne many years before a local reputation as a haunted house, and was
still avoided after dusk by many of those whose avocations might take
them to the vicinity.

As yet, including Labar and Malone, there were not more than a dozen
men gathered for the expedition. Labar looked at his watch. It would be
an hour at least, and probably longer, before the complete forces would
be gathered.

"Reckon I'll take this shepherd and go and have a look, see," he said
to Malone. "You can explain my ideas if we're not back, Bill, and then
carry on. I'm sure to meet you." He turned to the looker whom he had
decided to take as guide. "How long do you think it will take us to
get to this place? We might go part of the way by car."

"An hour and a half, walking," said the looker. "Maybe twenty minutes
by car--I don't know."

"I suppose they'd see a car coming for miles over this place," said the
detective inspector. "It's as flat as the palm of your hand. And I'd
bet something that they'll be keeping a good look-out to-day."

"If you're bent on going, guv'nor," said Malone, and his tone conveyed
that he thought it a totally unnecessary venture, "why not take the car
as far as you think wise and walk the rest. There won't be any cover
for you though. Why not wait?"

"No, I'll go and have a scout round. You can be easy, Bill. I won't
take any risks I can help. Let's go."

For a mile or so they pushed the car along one of the rough tracks of
the marsh. As the looker explained, the detour was even more extensive
than if they had gone on foot, and the roughness of the going made the
driver wary of anything in the nature of speed. The detective and his
guide descended when the latter observed that within the next mile they
would come within sight of "Mope's Bottom." They made their way over
the pastures and dykes on foot by a more direct, but still devious
route.

Presently they were within view of the dark mass of the house. They lay
on the edge of a dyke and studied it for a while. Through his glasses
Labar could see nothing that gave the slightest indication of life.
There was not even a wisp of smoke from the chimneys, and the windows
were tight-closed. From where they were the angle of the wall hid a
distinct view of the gate, but the detective rapped out an oath as he
tried to confirm an impression that it was open. Could it be that after
all he was too late?

There had always been that possibility, but Labar at the back of his
mind had refused to recognise it as likely. There had been but the most
slender margin of time in which his quarry could have safely got away.
It would be the most uncanny luck if he had succeeded.

He rose to his feet, and with the looker by his side strode on to where
he could get a closer view of the place. This time there was no doubt.
The big wall gates were open.

Labar snapped the glasses into their case and turned to the looker.
"You can get back, my lad. Tell Mr. Malone, or whoever you meet, that
I think our birds have made their get-away. Anyway I'm going on to see
what has happened. Get some of my men to come on the moment they are
ready. Now which is my nearest way to the house?"

He strode on reckless of everything now. He was convinced that the
house was empty. Certain it was that neither Larry nor any of his
associates would have permitted any carelessness at this time. There
could only be one explanation of the outer defences of the place
remaining unguarded when they must know that the forces of the law
would be upon them at any minute.

As he drew nearer his conviction became more certain. But as he reached
the gates some instinct of caution made him step more warily. They
might have left the Alsatian. He pulled out an automatic which he had
procured at Rye, though he had little faith in his ability to use it
effectively, and passed between the gates with his senses vividly on
the alert.

Once within he halted for a second or two and listened with strained
intentness. There was not a sound. Moving on velvet feet, ready to
shoot at the instant, he tried the door of the house. It was fastened,
and he turned his attention to the windows. But whoever had forgotten
the gates the house was tight-sealed. A swift examination showed him
that none of the simple devices by which the fastenings of an ordinary
house might be overcome would suffice here.

With a grim smile he recalled that he had neglected to obtain a search
warrant. He had not even had the warrant for Larry's arrest endorsed by
a local magistrate. But the strict formalities of the law have at times
to be ignored or many rogues would escape. Time enough to put himself
right on these technicalities later. He reversed his pistol and smashed
with the butt through the glass of the morning-room window. Thrusting
his hand carefully through the jagged pane he undid the fastening and
entered the room. It was meticulously neat and tidy. No sign of any
hurried departure here.

Completely satisfied that no living person remained in the house he
pushed his pistol back into his pocket and lit a cigarette. There was
nothing to hurry about now. He would have to wait till his men arrived
in any event.

He moved about the house taking for the moment a superficial if
methodical survey. But as he entered room after room to find each in
applepie order, with nothing that could in any manner be construed
to fit with his theory that the house was a depot for stolen goods,
he puffed more fiercely at his cigarette and his eyebrows drew more
closely together.

"If Larry's had the stuff here he's made a clean sweep or he's hidden
it pretty tight," he muttered. "But he can't have got away with it. It
isn't possible."

Something that Penelope Noelson had said recurred to him, and he made
his way back to the panelled room that he judged to have been Larry's
study. Taking a pencil from his pocket he proceeded to tap methodically
inch by inch upon the walls. A quarter of an hour passed in this
manner and he was stooping to make a fresh start from the bottom of
the wall when he became aware of some slight sound behind him. He gave
no sign that he had heard and continued the tap tap of his pencil as
nonchalantly as ever, considering with strained calculation what his
next move should be.

The even voice of Larry Hughes broke on his ear. "No use trying to
deceive the astute Mr. Labar. You've guessed right. There is a secret
panel in this room. But as you see you started at the wrong end. And
rather than wait the arrival of your friends we have decided to show
you everything ourselves. Keep very still, please. My friend Mr. Bungey
is a hasty man. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to
you."

Still stooping the detective permitted his gaze to swing slowly round.
Before an open panel in the woodwork stood Larry Hughes and Billy
Bungey each with a levelled pistol in his hand.




                              CHAPTER XXV


Harry Labar had been in many tight corners in his life, but now he knew
himself in the tightest of them all. He had fallen into an ambush. He
was certain that at the first false move he made neither of the men
who confronted him would hesitate to shoot him down. They were in a
situation where nothing--not even murder--could make matters much worse
for them. Unless they escaped the net that was closing round them they
knew as well as he did that practically the remainder of their lives
would be spent in prison.

He smiled sweetly upon the two. "Do you mind if I raise myself a
little?" he asked. "This attitude is somewhat cramping."

"First of all I think that you had better drop your gun on the floor,"
said Larry. "That's a sensible man," as Labar dragged out his weapon
and tossed it on the carpet. "Now you may stand up while Billy attends
to you. But," he made a menacing gesture with his own pistol--"don't do
anything foolish."

It was far from Labar's intention to do anything foolish. He knew in
what jeopardy he stood. So he remained perfectly still while Billy
Bungey skilfully lashed his arms to his side, and as he finished
surveyed the trussed detective with some satisfaction.

"What about a gag?" he asked taking out a handkerchief and considering
it speculatively. "We shan't want him kicking up an uproar when his
pals arrive."

"He'll do as he is," declared Larry. "I want to have a chat with him."
He moved into the room and put a hand at Labar's elbow. "Come on, Mr.
Inspector. For your own sake you had better not play any tricks. If
your men get on to us I assure you that the first man who is put out
will be yourself. Get that."

"I appreciate the compliment," agreed the inspector.

As he was led through the open panel, with Larry and Billy Bungey on
each side of him, one of them slid it into place behind. For a second
they were in impenetrable blackness. Then someone switched on an
electric torch and Labar gathered that he was in a narrow tunnel which
widened as they advanced. They had gone a hundred yards or so when they
were halted. Labar turned to see a steel door slide across the tunnel.

"A little modern addition of my own to an old smugglers tunnel," said
Larry. "Nothing short of dynamite will shift that."

"I half-suspected that you would have a bolthole," said Labar with the
indifferent air of one making conversation. "This is where you stowed
your stuff, I suppose. Where does it lead to?"

"Shut up," ordered Larry. "You can talk when I ask you to. Let's get
along."

As near as the detective could estimate they had traversed another
quarter of a mile when there was a gleam of light ahead. In a little
they had reached a widening of several yards in the tunnel, which
formed a sort of room, dimly lit by an oil lamp. Lounging on suitcases
and other baggage about this space were several spectral figures whom
Labar rightly assumed to be the rest of Larry's party.

"You may sit down," said Hughes. "I don't think that the formality of
an introduction is necessary to most of these ladies and gentlemen. You
know them. They have been waiting your arrival."

"You expected me then?" asked Labar in a tone of mild surprise.

"We guessed there would be an early arrival this morning, and we hoped
that it might be you," said Larry. "We left the outer gates open as a
bait in case you came snooping around."

Although he was feeling very far from laughter Labar managed to
enunciate a convincing chuckle. "Well, you have got me," he said. "I
may be very dense, Larry, but I fail to see how that is going to help
you. What are you going to do with me?"

"There are many things that we might do," said Larry significantly.
"Indeed I cannot say what we shall do if you don't behave reasonably.
There's an old proverb you know."

"'Dead men tell no tales.' That's what you are trying to hint?"

"You have a quick mind, my dear Labar. Use it a little farther and
guess why we want you."

Labar thought for a moment before replying. "That shouldn't be
difficult," he said slowly. "You are in a hole and want to know what
steps I have taken to dig you out. Suppose I don't tell you."

Larry thrust his face, sinister and threatening, close to that of the
prisoner. "Oh, yes you will," he said menacingly.

The detective laughed. "Well, you will know soon enough. I gather that
you have been disappointed in the arrival of your yacht. This tunnel
probably leads out somewhere by the shore and you hope to slip away
to-night by sea, while the police are watching the ports. But there are
a hundred armed men on the marsh and the shore is patrolled. There is a
fast motor boat just off the beach and beyond that a destroyer. You've
only just got to show your nose above ground and you're gone coons,
Larry. Now you know just where you stand. I hope you like it."

"You're a liar," snarled Billy Bungey.

"Leave this to me, Billy," ordered Larry peremptorily. He addressed
Labar. "I think you are lying myself. If you are not you can depend
upon it that they'll never get me alive. Who will be in charge when
they fail to find you?"

The detective shook his head. "That I can't tell you. I don't know who
will be down from the Yard. But if you think you can bluff them out of
this district you'll be disappointed. They'll stick. Better make the
best of a bad job, Larry."

"Make no mistake, Labar. You will never live to give evidence against
any of us."

"Then you'll hang," retorted the other amiably. "Not only you, Larry,
but all of those here." He raised his voice. "Do you hear me, you
people. Some of you may get away with light sentences as it is. But if
you let this man----"

A hand was clapped roughly about his mouth and he was forced to his
knees. But he had said what he wanted. Desperate though many of those
under the sway of Larry Hughes were, not all of them would face
with composure the probability of being hanged for murder. There
were subdued mutterings and he could distinguish the voices of Mrs.
Gertstein and Sophie Lengholm. It was the latter who came forward.

"Don't be a fool, Larry. The man's right. It can't do us any good to
kill him. If we're in the cart, we're in it."

Larry swore fiercely at her. "When I want your advice I'll ask for it."

The man who held the detective broke in. "He's got the whole business
in hand. Let me do him in. Who's to know? Whatever they think we can
put him somewhere where they'll never find him. Likely as not things
will break down without him. I'm for taking the chance."

"Sophie's got the strength of it," said another voice. "Time enough to
croak him if we're forced to it. As it is we can afford to wait and see
what happens. No good risking our necks until we have to."

"I won't have any of you swine telling me what to do or what not
to do," declared Larry with cold fury. "I'm the big noise here. If
anyone's got any different ideas about it now's the time to have it
out." He paused for a moment as if waiting for someone to take up
his challenge. It was met with a dead silence. He had reasserted
his ascendency. He made a gesture of ineffable contempt. "Huh, you
squealing lot of rats. Let that split up, Bill. If he opens his mouth
again fetch him one across the jaw."

As Labar got awkwardly to his feet Larry wheeled upon him. "And you,
you big spawn, I mean what I say. All the chance that you've got is
that we get clear away. So put your thinking cap on."

"That's the stuff," ejaculated Bill Bungey, "I'm with you." He poked a
forefinger stiffly into Labar's ribs. "O-u-t spells out and out you
go."

Larry's burst of temper cooled down. He was in perfect possession of
himself when next he spoke. "I'm going to call your bluff, Labar. I'm
going to see if your people have blocked every way out. You'd better
hope for your own sake that they haven't. Come on Tom--and you Billy.
The rest of you keep an eye on this man."

He crept away accompanied by the two men he had designated farther
along the tunnel. By straining his ears Labar heard another steel door
creak back. Apparently the tunnel towards its seaward end was also
guarded.

Larry and his two companions guided by the gleam of an electric torch
moved swiftly along the damp tunnel. The leader was thoughtful.

"Billy," he said, "I'm not sure that we haven't overplayed our hand. If
that fellow's telling the truth we're booked for trouble."

"I begin to wish we hadn't snaffled him," said Billy. "He might not
have run across that panel. If he'd overlooked it we were O.K. We'd
simply have had to wait till they made up their minds we had cleared
off."

"I know the breed," retorted Larry with a shake of his head. "Once he
got the idea in his head he was bound to go on with it. Some of these
Johns may not have any brains, but they stick to an idea. He'd have
pulled the house down to make sure. We may not be out of the wood, but
we've got a breathing spell."

Billy grunted uncertainly and Larry emitted a sharp order for quiet
beneath his breath. The tunnel was rising at a sharp angle and narrowed
so rapidly that they were compelled to take single file and crawl.
Rough timbers supported the top for the last twenty yards or so and
then for about the length of a man the way finished in an acute
angle of about forty-five degrees. Larry, who was leading, stretched
himself at full length and, stealthily withdrawing some bolts, raised
a trap-door of about two feet square a matter of inches, and peered
without. Satisfied with his preliminary scrutiny he pushed the trap
higher and crawled to the outer air.

He emerged into a depression in a waste of shingle sheltered by a high
bank which shut off the sea. Stooping low he clambered up the bank, and
laying on his stomach scrutinised the surroundings. A couple of hundred
yards away the sea lapped monotonously on a lonely shore. Far out at
sea there were one or two ships obviously on their lawful occasions.
Nearer in there was a fleet of fishing boats. On the dim horizon
something that had been at first obscured by the sail of one of the
smacks came into Larry's angle of vision. He uttered a low curse as he
recognised the silhouette of a destroyer. If Labar had been speaking
the truth in that particular he might have done so in others.

His gaze swung to the beach. Far as he could see that was open. There
was no sign of the motor boat of which Labar had spoken. In point of
fact, although Larry could not know, it was labouring on the other side
of Dungeness with engine trouble. But the beach itself was deserted.

Billy Bungey had crawled up beside him and pointed out the destroyer.

"I know," said Larry petulantly. "God, I've got eyes, haven't I?"

He turned over to scan the marshes. In the distance he could see
"Mope's Bottom," but around it and as far as he could see there was no
sign of life.

"Not a soul, Billy," he observed. "All the same I don't like it. It is
early yet and if Labar wasn't bluffing we'll be in a hole--in every
sense."

"We could take a chance and bolt for it now," said the other. "No use
waiting till it's too late."

The eyes of the two men met. There was a significance in Billy Bungey's
words that Larry did not fail to appreciate. He remained silent and
thoughtful, and the rougher scoundrel slid back to the trap-door.

"You there, Tom?" he asked. "Get back to the boys, will you? It looks
reasonably clear here, but the boss and I are going to take a bit of a
look round. We'll be along presently."

He came back to where Larry was lying on the shingle. "That's got rid
of him. There might be a chance for two of us. There wouldn't be any
for a crowd. What do you say?"

For once in his life Larry Hughes was irresolute. In his career there
were few codes that he had not broken. But always he had made it a
practice to keep faith with those who had come under his sway. He
could say, outlaw though he was, that he had never betrayed a friend
nor forgiven an enemy. It was a rigid part of his policy to enforce
honour among thieves to himself as to his associates. He could neither
afford to forgive a man who had let him down nor to abandon those who
had worked with him. That was the reason for the strength that he had
acquired in the underworld. Once that policy was abandoned the prestige
that had been so profitable to him would be gone.

Those people who were back in the tunnel would not understand that if
they were in a trap his return could do no good to them. They would
think that he had deliberately planned to make them scapegoats. There
was the risk, too, that their loyalty--always a frail thing--would not
stand the strain of his leaving them. They would talk. And if they
began talking to the police, Larry knew that his escape would have to
be made good, for the evidence that would be accumulated against him
would be overwhelming.

He shrugged his shoulders in contempt at his own lack of decision. What
did it matter? There was enough against him as it was. Nothing that
they could say or do could make any difference. Why should he worry?
In cases like this it was each man for himself and the devil take the
hindmost.

He rose cautiously to his feet. "Come along, Billy. We'll take the
chance."




                             CHAPTER XXVI


In the underground chamber where the little group awaited the return
of Larry time passed slowly. Labar could hear the ticking of his watch
above the whispered conversation that passed among the others. He was
not of a morbid cast of mind but he could not help reflecting on the
possibility that his life hung upon a hair.

Once finally convinced that they were cornered the views of the more
desperate of the gang that he was better out of the way were likely
to prevail. He had to face that probability, and he liked it the less
the more that he thought of it. He considered the situation from
another angle. It was just on the cards that the tunnel might remain
undiscovered by the men who were following him. In that case his
dilemma would be worse. His captors were scarcely likely to leave him
alive to take up the trail after them once more. Men of the habit of
thought of Billy Bungey would be liable to take a simple method of
ridding themselves of an embarrassment. Larry, the most dangerous of
them all, would not lift a finger to stay his sacrifice unless policy
dictated that he should remain alive. There would be little to hope for
from that direction. If he was to get clear of the predicament into
which he had fallen his own wit must save him.

No one now remained near him. The man who had hitherto been at his
elbow had moved over to the group to take part in the conversation. It
was a reasonable assumption that the detective, tied as he was, and
with all egress from the tunnel barred, could do no harm. Labar himself
realised his impotence, and with no conscious thought in his mind moved
quietly a pace or two so that he might place his back against the wall.
There he remained in the blackest of the shadows cast by the feeble oil
lamp.

A figure detached itself from the cluster and moved casually over to
him as though to assure herself of his security. If any of the others
noticed they showed no sign. He had no difficulty in recognising Sophie
Lengholm. She stood by him for a second saying no word and then he felt
her hand thrust something into his. It was a small open penknife.

Unhurriedly she returned to the others, and the astonished officer
remained stone still. It was no time to probe into motives. Whatever
had actuated her the fact was that he had in his hand the means of
comparative freedom. If the worst came to the worst now he need not be
butchered without some sort of a fight.

Very silently, very cautiously he set himself with much straining of
the wrist, and with some danger of gashing himself, to cut the lower
strand of the rope that held him. It was a slow and awkward business,
but at last he felt it fall apart. Thus far he had not thought what
the following move was to be. He paused, making no attempt to release
himself fully for the moment. He could scarcely hope to overpower all
the company with nothing for a weapon save a penknife. If he could lay
his hands on a revolver--but the only method of doing so was so wildly
desperate that he paused to consider before putting it into execution.
At that moment he heard the creak of the outer sliding door. It was,
he imagined, the return of Larry and there would be three more men to
reckon with.

The others also had heard and they were on their feet when Tom entered.
A volley of questions was fired at him. The valet shook his head.

"Don't eat a man. It's all right. Everything looks clear, but Mr.
Hughes and Bungey are scouting round to make sure. They'll be back in a
jiffy."

Labar judged that it might be time to create a diversion. A
half-suspicion had come into his mind, but he scarcely believed it
himself.

"Looks to me as though he had left the rest of you to hold the baby,"
he announced in level tones. "While you're monkeying about here like
a lot of sapheads Larry and Billy are on their way. They've played you
for a gang of suckers."

Tom wheeled upon him on the instant. "So you say," he retorted. "That's
one of the things the boss does not do. I've known him as long as
anyone and he always plays square with the boys. Mr. Hughes is a square
grafter."

"Huh!" said the detective. "Wait and see."

"It looks fishy to me," said someone, and Labar knew that he had
succeeded in instilling doubt into at least one mind.

"Tom's right," said Sophie Lengholm. "Larry has his little ways but he
doesn't snitch and he isn't a coward."

"But if he _has_ gone?" wailed a tearful voice, in which Labar
recognised the accents of Mrs. Gertstein. "What shall we do?"

"Don't snivel till you're hurt," snarled a gruff voice. "Gone or not
we're no worse off. No one can touch us here yet."

"We can't stay here and starve and if we go out they'll put us in
prison." Adèle Gertstein was becoming hysterical. "Oh, can't we do
something?"

Tom moved softly across to her and spoke low voiced. "If you can't keep
quiet we'll find a way that will settle you," he said. "Make yourself a
nuisance and someone will be sticking a bit of steel into you as likely
as not." He gripped her shoulder and shook her fiercely. "Now that will
be all from you."

She made some inarticulate protest and then fell cowed and silent.

Tom addressed the gang. "I'm going back now to wait for the boss. If
anyone likes to come along there's no reason against it."

One man volunteered, and with a final warning to the others to wait
in patience Tom moved off. With the aid of his knife the detective
set himself to dispose of the remainder of his bonds. He dropped them
at last noiselessly to his side, and marked one of Billy Bungey's
associates as the first object of attack.

Inch by inch holding to the shadows as far as possible he edged towards
his man. Speed was of the essence of his plan. If he guessed wrong he
knew himself as good as dead.

Suddenly he leapt. The full weight of his heavy body was behind his
fist which caught his man full on the point. The fellow fell like
a sack and almost simultaneously Labar was by the unconscious body
feeling feverishly in the right hand jacket pocket for the weapon he
believed to be there. His judgment was right and as he pulled himself
upright a heavy automatic was in his hand. He squeezed the trigger and
a spurt of flame and a heavy report which reverberated lengthily in
the confined space, told the others almost before they knew what had
happened that he was armed.

"Keep away from me," he ordered. "I'll shoot among you if anyone moves."

The answer was a shot which buried itself in the wall behind him,
missing him by a yard. He brought his own weapon to a level and fired
blindly. Someone screamed and there was a heavy fall. Unfamiliar as he
was with firearms it had been impossible to miss at that distance, and
with the target presented by a number of people.

"Do you want any more?" demanded the detective grimly.

There was no answer. Only the breathing of the group, and the muffled
sobs of Mrs. Gertstein broke the stillness that had descended on the
scene. Labar waited tensely alert for any menacing move. He was glad
for several reasons that no one of his opponents had had presence
of mind enough to put out the light. In the darkness it was highly
probable that someone would get killed.

"Some of you have electric torches," said Labar. "Throw one out here.
Quick's the word. I'm liable to get impatient." He flourished his
weapon significantly.

A man stepped a little forward and a torch thudded at the detective's
feet. Keeping a wary eye upon the group he picked it up with his left
hand and switched the beam upon them.

"Now boys," he said, "I don't want to hurt anyone, but if I do you'll
only have yourselves to blame. Throw any pistols or other weapons that
you have into the centre of the room. Don't try to hold anything out on
me or it will be the worse for you."

There were men facing him who would not have hesitated to fly at his
throat in many circumstances. So far the element of surprise had served
him well. He dominated them for the time, but he knew that it needed
only the slightest initiative on the part of one of them, and he would
have the whole mob about his ears. There was a perceptible hesitation
in complying with his last order. His trigger finger twitched.
Reluctant though he was to shoot he was resolved to do so rather than
run the risk of a combined attack.

"I'm going to count three," he said. "If those pistols aren't on the
floor by then I shoot. One--two----"

A weapon clattered to the ground and a second followed.

"Any more?" he asked.

A third pistol followed the others and, although he was convinced of
the probability that there were still more weapons on some of the men,
there was no way of making sure. He had to take a chance.

"I'm going to take you people back to 'Mope's Bottom,'" he said. "You
will keep well in front of me and if anyone looks back he will be
turned into something deader than a pillar of salt. Now march."

"What about Jim?" asked one of the prisoners, indicating the motionless
form of the man who had been shot.

Labar reflected. For all he knew time might be precious. If Tom or
Larry or Billy returned, as they might at any moment, he could hope
for nothing better than a fight to the death. He shook his head.

"I'll see that he's looked after later," he said. "Come. Get a move on."

He marshalled them into the dark tunnel, and with a stern order that
they were not to pass beyond the rays of his torch carried them to the
interior steel door. There they came to a halt.

Two of the men fiddled with the catch meeting with some apparent
difficulty. "It won't open," one of them declared. "Only Larry and Tom
know the secret."

Here was a predicament. It flashed across Labar's mind that these men
were scarcely likely to have submitted to be shut in the tunnel during
the absence of those who held the key to their release and at the risk
of accident unless they themselves knew the secret. He switched his
light off and fired at the floor of the tunnel.

"That will be unlucky for you," he declared ominously. "If that door
isn't opened in a matter of seconds I'll shoot my way through it--and
you."

Adèle Gertstein who had never ceased her subdued wailing now gave a
sharp cry of terror. And then the door creaked back.

There was no further attempt to evade the instructions of Labar. He
had convinced them, for the time, that he would stand at nothing, and
in that confined space even a bad shot could not fail to wreck deadly
execution. Yet until he had reached the open he felt far from secure.
There was a thrill down his spine, and once or twice he felt tempted
to look round. He had an uneasy feeling that he was being stalked from
behind. It would be the simplest thing in the world to follow along
that narrow passage and shoot him in the back.

So they came to the entrance to Larry's private room. At a touch the
panel slid aside and daylight illumined the opening. From the other
side came a sharp cry of surprise and a quick order. Bill Malone had
his wits about him.

"Reach for the ceiling, you."

One by one with their hands above their heads the prisoners filed into
the room. Labar stepped in behind them. At the far side of the room
stood Bill Malone and Detective Inspector Moreland with revolvers in
their hands.

"Criminy, if it ain't the guv'nor," ejaculated Bill.




                             CHAPTER XXVII


Explanations were deferred till such time as the prisoners could be
dealt with. Half a dozen stalwart constables, each armed with a shot
gun, took charge of the captives who were subjected to a swift search.
There was one, who as Labar had suspected, had still a pistol about
him. If he had really intended to use it he had failed to find an
opportunity, or his courage had failed. The gang were escorted into
another room for the time and Moreland cocked an eye at Labar.

"Nice fellow you are. Call out the whole lot of us, horse, foot and
artillery and then try to do the job on your little own. Where's Larry?"

The other made a gesture towards the open mouth of the tunnel. "That's
his bolthole, but I doubt that he's still in there. How long you folk
been here?"

"Perhaps ten minutes," said Malone. "We had to wait for some of our
people."

"Any chance of men slipping through out there?" He swept a hand
vaguely to the marsh.

"A rat might do it. The place is alive with our men."

"But half an hour ago? If you've only just got here--" He left the
sentence uncompleted.

"There might have been some sort of an opportunity then," admitted
Malone.

"What are you driving at?" asked Moreland.

"Larry. That tunnel leads somewhere out towards the coast. It's a full
half hour or more since he slipped out there. If----"

They stared at each other, in something like consternation. The retired
military officer who was the head of the Kent County Constabulary
entered in haste.

"What's this I hear? You've rounded them up? Are you Mr. Labar?"

"I'm Labar. Not altogether. We haven't got our fingers on the man we
really want yet. Do you know whether the men from Lydd have got to this
part of the coast yet?"

"They should have linked up before now, but I don't know. It's a long
way and rough going."

"Where are your lads?" demanded Labar turning to Moreland.

"Two or three of them still searching the house. The rest are outside
knocking around."

"Send some of them with a guide down to the shore. You and I and
Bill, with a couple more will slip along the tunnel in case they've
doubled back. I'd be grateful to you, sir"--he addressed the Chief
Constable--"if you would go down to the shore, too. If any of our birds
have been met there will be a fight going on about now."

He slipped the automatic into his pocket and borrowed a shot gun from
one of the uniformed men. He felt more confidence in his ability to
manipulate it. There were two or three torches which had been taken
from the prisoners and with these his companions provided themselves.

Labar started to lead the way when with an exclamation he came to an
abrupt halt.

"Lord! I nearly forgot."

"Forgot what?" asked Moreland.

"There's a man I shot laying along in here somewhere. He may be dead
for all that I know. Just as well to have a couple of constables along
to fetch him out."

"Losing your memory I should say," commented the irrepressible
Moreland. "A little matter like a dead man and you all but forgot him!"

"And I reckon we'll take along one of the gang as a matter of
precaution," said Labar. "There's every modern convenience in this
tunnel, including steel doors which may be awkward to open."

A man was selected from the prisoners and the little band of armed
police officers started on their tour of exploration. Bill Malone
elected to take the prisoner in his own charge and poking him with the
muzzle of a pistol gave expression to prophesies of sudden and horrid
calamity in the event of any monkey business.

As they arrived at the first barrier Labar swung his torch and a sharp
oath slipped from between his lips. That door he was confident had been
left open. Now it was closed.

The white-faced prisoner under the persuasion of a dig in the ribs from
Malone's pistol point was called upon to open it. But it resisted all
his efforts.

"No good, sir," he said. "It's locked on the inside."

"Here's a nice game," observed Malone.

"Looks as if Larry had come back," said Moreland.

"Or Tom and his pal," said Labar. "We may have to do some digging
out." He put his face close to the metal and raised his voice. "You
inside there. Can you hear me? Be good boys now and come out. You'll do
yourselves no good by this foolishness."

There was no answer. Labar turned to the prisoner. "Show me how this is
supposed to work," he ordered.

With docility the man indicated an unobtrusive knob at the side of the
wall. "Push it in and then turn it first to the right and then to the
left."

The detective obeyed, but still the blank sheet of steel remained
unmoved. He fiddled impatiently with the knob and suddenly the slab
glided back. In an instant the officers had crouched back to the
side of the wall with weapons ready and their torches searching the
darkness, half expecting a shower of bullets from the interior.

For a space they waited thus. Then Labar stirred and reaching over to
the prisoner gripped his shoulder so that he squirmed. "Trying to put
something over on us," he said sternly. "Just one more break of that
kind and I'll find a way that will make you squeal. We're bad men to
play with just now."

"It was an accident, guv'nor," pleaded the man. "You must have handled
it wrong."

"Another accident like that may be fatal to you, my boy," said Malone
ferociously.

"All the same it's funny about that door," said Labar. "That has been
closed since I was here. Let's get on."

Cautiously they pushed forward. They came to the place in which the
man who had been shot had lain. The oil lamp still burned and the
detectives cast their torches about. There was a crimson stain on the
floor but otherwise no sign of a man either wounded or dead.

"What do you know about that?" demanded Moreland.

"Don't ask conundrums," retorted Labar. "Either he's pulled himself
together or someone has moved him."

Certain now that there was someone of the gang in the tunnel they
advanced with weapons poised. The outer door was also shut but with a
little manipulation that also was dealt with. The narrowing of the
tunnel warned them that if they were approaching an ambush here was
where it might be looked for. Only one man could advance at a time, and
a determined opponent could hold any number at bay indefinitely. Labar
crawled first followed by Moreland and the two Flying Squad men. Then
came Malone. The prisoner was for the time left behind in charge of the
two constables.

Seemingly from a great distance there came the sound of a muffled
report. Labar stiffened as a wedge of daylight showed some thirty or
forty yards in front of him. Another report, this time louder, came to
his ears and the wedge of light broadened. The head and shoulders of a
man crawling towards him showed in the passage. Labar levelled his gun
and saw Moreland thrust a pistol forward. For a moment they faced each
other thus and the jaw of the man dropped in a consternation that would
have been ludicrous at any other time.

"Back you go," ordered Labar.

"Don't shoot for the love of heaven," cried the man. "I can't go back.
There are others behind me."

Labar felt his heart quicken a beat. Was it possible that after all,
Larry had been rounded up into a trap?

"How many of you are there?" he demanded.

It was the voice of Tom the valet speaking from behind the leading man
that answered. "There are three of us, Mr. Labar. We can't go back.
The police are outside and they would shoot us down as we went out. We
daren't go back."

With a little disappointment Labar recognised that Larry was not there.
The three would be Tom, and his companion, and the man he had shot. He
had, too, an idea of the dilemma in which they were placed. Clearly
there had been some sort of an encounter with the police outside, and
excited men were not likely to be too nice if a head showed itself
outside the tunnel. He had no wish to cause needless bloodshed.

"We'll give you three minutes," he said. "They'll have cooled down a
little by then." He pushed his way nearer to them along the corridor.

"We've a wounded man here," protested the first figure. "It will be
murder if you turn us out."

"We'll risk it," said Labar.

The thought of retreating back along the tunnel and allowing Tom and
his confederates to follow up he had dismissed at the moment it had
arisen. These ruffians would have a point of vantage as soon as the
tunnel opened out and might conceivably do much damage if they then
determined to resist arrest. He was not going to abandon the strength
of his position. It was no occasion for scruples, although he felt that
the fears of the trapped men might have some foundation.

The knot was cut at the sound of a deep voice echoing from the
trap-door. "Heigh! You down below there!"

"That's Whitehead," said Moreland, naming one of his sergeants. He
raised his voice to a shout. "It's all right, Whitehead. This is
Moreland. Stand by and your friends will come up like little gentlemen."

"Right you are, sir," agreed the sergeant. "We'll be waiting."

"Now then. Out you go," said Labar, and slowly the men backed with the
two inspectors and their aides following them closely.

As Labar and Moreland pulled themselves out of the tunnel they were
confronted by a bunch of plain-clothes men and uniformed police with
three dejected prisoners in their midst. The Chief Constable who had
gone from "Mope's Bottom" with the Flying Squad men was mopping his
brow with a silk handkerchief.

"You were right," he greeted Labar. "We were just in time for a bit of
a scrap."

"What happened?" asked Labar.

"Some of our people found these men"--he jerked his head towards the
prisoners--"skulking in a dyke. They were challenged and opened fire. A
running fight took place for a while, and we were just in time to take
a hand in the last part of it before they went to ground."

"Might as well find out what they know," whispered Moreland, and Labar
nodded.

Moreland gave an order to one of his men and Tom was detached from his
companions and brought forward well out of earshot. The Yard men knew
better than to question the three together.

"You're the man who posed as Larry's valet?" said Labar.

"I was Mr. Hughes' body servant, sir," corrected Tom, mildly.

"Where is he now?"

The valet shook his head. "I know no more than you do, sir. He has
vanished."

"So it seems. He's put you in the cart, anyway--you and your pals. What
are you going to do about it? He's doubled-crossed you. I suppose you
realise that?"

Tom shook his head stolidly. "I don't know that, sir. In these
emergencies accidents are likely to happen beyond one's control. I
should say that Mr. Hughes has found it impossible to communicate with
us. I remember that you suggested something of the sort down below.
You will forgive me if I take the liberty of suggesting that you are
mistaken."

"You play the part well," said Labar, with a half-sneer. "I suppose
that it's got into your blood. But I warn you. You can't play with us.
Larry Hughes has let you down. You may save yourself trouble if you
talk plain English. Give us the whole truth."

"I am quite willing to tell you as much as I know," said the valet.

"We'll see," said the inspector, sternly. "Go on."

But Tom was neither to be coaxed nor threatened. Whether he had any
part in the escape of Larry and Billy Bungey, Labar found it hard to
decide. His mask of a face showed as little beneath the surface as his
soft, carefully chosen words.

With an air of complete frankness he told of his excursion to the
mouth of the tunnel, with his chief and Billy Bungey, and how he
had been ordered to return while the two explored the immediate
neighbourhood. He had, as Labar knew, gone back with one man but Larry
had disappeared. Once more he had gone back to the tunnel. There he had
found the man wounded by Labar, who had just recovered consciousness,
and had given him rough first-aid. Meantime his other companion had
been sent on to close the interior door of the tunnel. Then it was that
the three had determined to make a bolt for it. Tom admitted indirectly
that Labar's coup and Larry's absence had inclined them to panic. They
had determined to get away from the place at all costs. Thus it was
that they had encountered one of the patrols of police who had by then
reached the neighbourhood of the exit, and had strove to regain their
refuge in the tunnel.

All of this was exactly as might have been surmised by the detective.
There was nothing that carried them any farther in the search for Larry
Hughes. The other two men each examined separately told the same story,
and Labar was forced to conclude that they knew no more than he did of
the whereabouts of the master rogue.

The prisoners were sent back to "Mope's Bottom" and a hurried council
of war was held.




                            CHAPTER XXVIII


The immediate question to be solved was whether Larry Hughes was still
hiding on the marsh, or whether he had eluded the network of police
and got safely away. So far as the detectives could tell every one
of the gang who had been at "Mope's Bottom," except Larry and Billy
Bungey, was safely in custody. Messengers were hurriedly despatched
in various directions, and a fresh and combined sweep of the marshes
begun. Meantime motor cars were sent for from various points by which
the prisoners already gathered in might be escorted to Lydd, where they
were to remain for the time guarded by a strong force of police.

Labar had enough respect for Larry to think that, for the time, he had
again eluded them. He did not believe that Larry would be found on
the marsh, and the events of the next couple of hours proved that he
was right. The master crook had somehow got through the cordon or had
hidden himself and his companion with supreme cunning. But the odds
were now with justice. It could only be a matter of time. Even if he
managed to get out of the country--a matter of considerable doubt--it
would be an unprecedented thing if he held himself secure from the
police machine of the world.

Word reached Labar at the end of the search that a suspicious yacht
had been picked up by H.M. destroyer "Hawk" off Dungeness and had been
escorted to Dover. Everything had been found in order aboard her, but
that her owner's name was given as Hughes. The crew were remaining on
board under guard, until such time as someone from Scotland Yard should
look them over. This was a business in which he promptly enlisted the
services of Moreland, who departed with one of his sergeants in a motor
car with a promise to return at the earliest possible moment. The news
that the motor boat which had put out from Camber had broken down ere
it reached its destination was now of trifling interest.

Satisfied, after a couple of hours, that the likelihood of picking up
Larry immediately was remote, Labar returned to "Mope's Bottom" with
Malone and two or three more men from the Yard to make a systematic and
complete rummage of the tunnel.

He was not altogether surprised to find that the Assistant Commissioner
in charge of the Criminal Investigation Department, and Winter the
Chief Constable, were there to greet him. They had run down by car--a
little too late for the fair as Winter expressed it.

They listened as he gave a short account of the events of the day, and
Winter chuckled as Labar told how he had fallen into Larry's trap and
extricated himself.

"You came close to making a hash of it, young feller. You wouldn't have
any sympathy from me if you were a corpse right now. You're too darned
impetuous. I've told you so before. Besides, what business had you
running things on your own? You're an outsider in this district. You
might have paid the local officers the compliment of consulting them
before you dashed off on this stunt. You didn't even have the excuse
that Miss Noelson was still here."

"I agree, sir," said Labar with the complacency of a man who felt that
results had justified him. "I was wrong."

"Well, don't let it happen again, that's all. Running round bossing
everybody just as if you were Home Secretary, instead of a chief
detective inspector."

Labar lifted his eyebrows. "I beg your pardon, sir."

The Assistant Commissioner broke in. "That's Winter's way of keeping
you humble, Mr. Labar. It's quite true that you are promoted. It will
be in orders this week."

"Can't trust you in a division," snorted Winter. "Want to have you
under my own eye at the Yard. I'll see that you work." He broke
off abruptly with a comment on the escape of Larry Hughes and thus
sidetracked any attempt at thanks on the part of Labar and brought him
back to the business in hand.

The two Yard chiefs elected to take a hand in the search of the tunnel.
"How did it come about that you thought of a back door?" asked the
Assistant Commissioner.

"Just put two and two together. Miss Noelson told me that there were
times when one or more of the gang would disappear from the house
and she was sure that they had not gone out by the gate. Looked a
possible explanation of many things, especially the way that stolen
goods were got out of the country. So I made up my mind to look for a
tunnel--particularly one that led from Larry's private room."

Inch by inch with the help of torches they went over the tunnel. It was
clear that it had been enlarged and shored up since the old days of the
smugglers. Once admitting the possibility of getting material, it was
simple to understand that Larry would be in no difficulty in obtaining
labour. He himself had a reputation as a craftsman, and there were
several among those who were under his sway who were skilled in many
directions. The steel sliding doors were examined by Winter with an
expert eye. They were miracles of ingenuity, although they had failed
in their evident purpose as a safeguard in cases of emergency.

The walls of the tunnel room were lined with strong steel boxes, the
majority of which were unlocked. These had clearly been used for the
temporary disposal of stolen property, until it could be embarked on
Larry's yacht. Suit-cases and handbags of various types were standing
about and an investigation of these showed that these had been packed
with the most portable and valuable of the goods from the lockers.

The Assistant Commissioner applied a match to his pipe. "As a small boy
one of my most determined dreams was to see an Aladdin's cave some day.
Now I know what it would look like."

"There were forty thieves in that business," said Winter. "Larry seems
to have resurrected the whole gang."

They carried the loot back into the house where a more precise
examination of the contents of the bags could be made, and a detailed
list written out. A very few minutes sufficed to show that they had
retrieved, not only practically the whole of the stuff stolen from
Streetly House, but articles which were part of the proceeds of many
other robberies. The detectives had at hand no descriptions, but their
memories aided them to identify many things with certainty. Here was
thrown light on many affairs that had been brought off in Labar's
division, and which had caused him many uneasy moments.

"There's pretty well all the evidence you want," said Winter. "All
that you need now is to lay hands on Larry. It's an open-and-shut case
against him and his people."

Labar glanced at his watch. "We'll need an expert with proper tools to
open up the other locked steel boxes," he said. "Apart from that Mr.
Malone might take charge here now. I want to get away to Lydd to see
about getting some of these people sorted out and sent up to London.
Those I don't know anything about I propose to charge for the moment
with being concerned in the Streetly House job. What do you think, sir?"

The Assistant Commissioner nodded. "I suppose you agree, Winter?"

The Chief Constable was prepared to accept Labar's suggestion.

"The Public Prosecutor will want to have a word on the subject of the
charges you propose to make. Wish we could get hold of Larry and finish
up the whole thing at one fell swoop. You'll have plenty to do, Labar.
I'll take what I can off your shoulders, but there's a lot of things
that will need your attention in person."

Labar nodded. The clean-up promised, so far as he could see, to keep
him busy indefinitely. For each individual case among the prisoners
was certain to involve a multitude of inquiries, to say nothing of a
ream of dockets and other correspondence. The time likely to be spent
in court was not inconsiderable, but that would be the least of his
troubles. Meanwhile he had a wish as a point of personal pride to be
the man who should effect the arrest of Larry Hughes--a thing which he
began to fear would be unlikely. Scotland Yard, in looking for results,
cares very little whether Smith, Brown or Robinson brings off the final
coup. If there were other matters to occupy Labar he would have to
stand aside. Nor could he rid himself of an undercurrent of feeling
that Penelope was not to be regarded as safe until Larry was under lock
and key.

Something of what was passing in his mind he managed to indicate. "It's
going to be hard luck on me if I don't get a chance to go and get
Larry," he observed.

"Man, but you're a hog," ejaculated Winter. "You want to wind up
like the detectives in the story books. Leave a bit of the limelight
for someone else. Maybe Larry will be pulled up, in the end, by some
country constable. What the blazes does it matter who actually arrests
him? Don't you know that we're all pieces of a machine? Stick to your
knitting, Labar."

The two heads of the C.I.D. accompanied Labar to Lydd where a list of
the prisoners by name had been made out. Arrangements had already been
made for a motor "Black Maria" to be available in case it was decided
to send them to London.

A room was placed at Labar's disposal in the little local police
station, and one by one the prisoners were brought before him, for he
was anxious to make a final attempt to find out if among them there
was anyone who might throw light on Larry's plans. In each case it
was a solitary interview. There were reasons for this. It is a trait
of human nature--particularly criminal human nature--to be more
disposed to confidence where there are not too many witnesses. Labar
felt, also, that there might arise occasions for questioning that a
strict interpretation of the law would not permit. Every Scotland Yard
man must on occasion put a blind eye to the telescope. The laws and
regulations made to protect the public if carried out to the letter
would make the detection of crime almost impossible.

But since Larry's flight was only a spur of the moment impulse, Labar
gained nothing that would help him to any extent in that matter. Hints
of other associates, suggestions of possible hiding places, came from
some of the more weak-kneed brethren who saw the fall of the heavens
in this wholesale capture. These things the detective made note of
for future use. In one or two cases he realised that some of those he
had rounded up were more dupes than knaves. Most of them, of course,
would have him believe that they were innocent victims of circumstance.
One or two such as Tom the valet, were defiantly dumb. On the whole,
however, Labar felt that he had put in a good hour's work before he
came to the last of the list, the two women, Sophie Lengholm and Mrs.
Gertstein.

Sophie, her head held high, her determined jaw set, showed no sign
of friendliness as Labar set out a chair for her. Labar was a little
puzzled how to deal with her for the moment.

"I believe you saved my life, to-day," he said. "In any case you saved
me from a very awkward position. Why did you do it?"

"I am certain I saved your life," she answered, coldly. "Don't think
that it was because of any liking that I have for you or anyone else
from Scotland Yard. Whatever I am, whatever I have been, I have never
had a hand in murder. That was all there was to it."

He shook his head. "I want to tell you that I'm grateful, not only
for that, but for some things in which I have a guess that you stood
between Miss Noelson and trouble."

"Oh, that." She made an impatient gesture. "Larry wanted to go too far.
Anyone would have stopped him."

"You're a little before my time," he said as though thinking aloud. "I
can't quite place you without looking you up. What have we got against
you?"

The woman laughed without merriment. "As if I should say that you have
anything against me."

"Take it from me, Sophie, I am not thinking of trapping you. I am
more concerned to find some way to let you down lightly. I don't want
something from the back of beyond to crop up against you if there is
any way of getting you out of the present mess. Whether you think me
sincere or not, I am anxious to stand your friend."

Sophie Lengholm had been born and bred to an ingrained distrust and
contempt of all police officers. But she was a woman of the world
and Labar's words and manner had an effect. Not that her instinctive
feelings were entirely dissipated. "Do you want me to squeal?" she
asked. "Because if so you needn't waste any more breath."

"That's just as you feel about it," he replied. "I should judge that
you don't owe very much to Larry or his friends, but if you want to
stand by them well and good. But can't you trust me about yourself?
Give me some line on which I can act without prejudice to my duty."

Her face softened. "I believe that you are straight. Mind you, it is
understood that nothing I say goes out of this room as an admission
from me."

"This is between you and me, Sophie," he agreed.

"My real name is Cummings," she said. "I am the wife of Dave Cummings.
I can see that you remember now."

"About twelve or fifteen years ago," he said. "Wasn't he the man who
got a lifer for shooting at a policeman in Manchester?"

"That's the case. It was a jeweller's shop and I was dogging outside
when the constable became suspicious. I gave Dave the office and we
started to move off. Dave never went armed on these things--in case.
But I carried a pistol and when we were pressed hard I passed it on to
Dave. He used it, and perhaps you remember it was touch and go whether
the officer lived. Dave and I separated after the shot was fired, and
he got caught. For some reason it was supposed that he was alone. The
policeman was a little excited I guess, and when he recovered spoke of
only one person. So Dave went down and I got away."

"That's a long while ago," said the detective. "Unless you admit your
complicity there is no evidence against you."

"Half a minute. Larry had put up that job for us, and naturally, he saw
that everything was done for Dave that could be done. Of course Dave
told him everything. In any case he knew that I was there. Apart from
that there were others in the business who knew and whom he undertook
to keep quiet. When Dave was sentenced Larry undertook to look after
me. I was useful in many ways. It was only when he found that I was
trying to get out of the game that he cracked the whip over me by
threatening to have me put away. He would have done it, too. Larry has
never made a threat that he hasn't been prepared to carry out."

"But you haven't been at 'Mope's Bottom' all this time?"

"Oh, Lord, no. There were other ways in which I was useful. Larry has
not often dealt direct with crooks. I have been down here for the last
few years."

"Looking after the embarkation of stolen property?"

She shot a fierce glance at him from under her eyelashes, and Labar
though convinced that his shot was right felt as though he had taken
an unfair advantage. He gnawed at the end of a pencil. "I'm sorry.
I should not have said that. I suppose that it is not the least use
asking you to come out with everything that you know of Larry?"

"Not the least," she agreed with decision. "I'll tell you all you like
about myself, but I won't implicate other people. I'm a thief, the
daughter of thieves, and the wife of a thief. You won't find very much
about me except what I've told you. If you can keep that out of it,
I'll be obliged."

He rose and offered his hand. "Thank you, Sophie. You can be sure that
I remember what I owe you. Rest easy about the old business. But this
is different. You'll have to go through as an accomplice of Larry's you
know."

"That's all right with me, Mr. Labar," she said. "You've got your job
to do."

She gripped his hand and with a nod and a smile passed out of the room.




                             CHAPTER XXIX


Limp, hysterical, and half-paralysed by her own emotions, Mrs.
Gertstein took the place of Sophie Lengholm. It was an interview that
did not last long, for she literally flung herself before the detective
in a burst of piteous appeals for mercy. There was no possibility of
extracting information from her in her present state, and Labar gave
instructions that she should have the attention of a doctor.

Moreland came by motor to Lydd from Dover. So far as any fresh results
were concerned his journey had been fruitless. The members of the crew
of Larry's boat were utterly unknown to him. But his arrival back at
Lydd was opportune, for he was able to take charge of the arrangements
for getting the prisoners up to London.

Labar himself was to follow, but he was wishful to run over to Rye
to escort Penelope to town, and he determined to have a final look
round before leaving the district. It was still within the bounds of
possibility that some clue would arise in regard to the movements of
Larry. Winter and the Assistant Commissioner also were anxious to get
back to their desks in town, but decided to stay overnight in case of
any fresh development.

The three motored over to Rye together in the gathering dusk, making
a casual detour towards "Mope's Bottom" at the request of Labar to
pick up a report from Malone. But Malone was not there. Indeed, there
were but a couple of C.I.D. men left in the house, and two uniformed
constables of the Kentish force on duty outside. One of the C.I.D. men
observed that a messenger had been sent on to Lydd--whom they must
have missed--telling of two men believed to be Larry and Billy Bungey
lurking in the buildings of a farm on the outskirts of Rye. Malone had
at once set off to investigate, taking with him a dozen men roped in
from "Mope's Bottom" and its vicinity.

"Who brought this story?" asked Winter.

The officer questioned jerked his head outside, where by now, spite of
the loneliness of the place, something like a small crowd had gathered
about the house which had seen such strange doings during the day.

"It wasn't an officer, sir. Someone picked it up as gossip outside.
Malone questioned the man who started it, and decided that there might
be something in it. He judged that it was his duty to go and have a
look into it."

"Quite right," agreed the Chief Constable. He turned to Labar. "It's
likely enough to be a mare's nest. You know how these yarns spread
about at these times. Doesn't sound like Larry to me. All the same we'd
better go and see. It's on our way."

With this vague destination--for no one knew anything more
concrete--they set off, the Metropolitan constable, who drove, taking
the marsh road cautiously under the advice of the local policeman who
sat by him as a guide.

On the main road into Rye, Labar had his attention drawn to an
antiquated Ford which he thought that he recognised. As he suspected,
it contained Malone. The big sergeant was out and at the doorway of the
Assistant Commissioner's car in a trice.

"I was hoping to catch you, sir," he said addressing Labar.

"A stumer, I suppose?" questioned Winter.

"No, it was the straight tip. We were too late to do anything
ourselves, but one of the Kent men has pretty well blown Billy Bungey's
head off with a shot gun. Billy's as dead a man as ever you saw."

"And Larry?" interjected Labar.

"Larry was in the shemozzle, but there were only two constables and he
plugged the one who laid Billy out. The other gave him both barrels but
he doubts if he so much as winged him. Larry held him and the farmer
at bay with his automatic, and backed into a field of standing corn.
Neither of them cared to follow him without more help. By the time
that arrived there was nothing to find except his tracks through the
corn which came out on this road. I've sent men the other way and we
were seeing if we could pick up any trace in this direction."

A few quick questions made the matter clear. A couple of men detailed
to patrol the road had received information from a farmhand of two
strangers moving about the outbuildings of a farm. Their movements
had, in light of the mysterious police doings information of which had
spread over the marsh, struck him as suspicious.

The two policemen, without waiting for more, had rushed to search the
place. Rounding a haystack one of them had come face to face with Billy
Bungey. They were perhaps a couple of yards apart. As the gunman raised
his automatic the policeman fired. Billy dropped forward half his head
shot away, and it was then that Larry Hughes came into view round the
haystack and shot the policeman through the shoulder. The other had
been held at bay until Larry could make good his escape. Then the
wounded man had been assisted into the farmhouse, and in the queer way
that rumour spreads, news of the adventure had reached Malone.

"Carry on, Malone," ordered Winter. "We can get into Rye in ten minutes
and send out help. We'll keep an eye in this direction."

It was necessary to get to Rye also to assume direction of the
telegraphic and telephonic communications of the hunt. Assured that
Larry was still within close reach, Labar ached to take some physical
part in the hunt. Had he been alone it was probable that he would have
dropped all other considerations to do so. But the presence of his two
superiors deterred him from any such suggestion.

After all, there was little that he could do in Rye beyond sending out
a few more men to help beat the surroundings of the farm, and send
messages to all concerned of this new development. So far as human
foresight went all the boltholes had already been stopped. But once in
the town and this done, his thoughts moved to Penelope. He determined
to reassure her of his safety before turning out on the pursuit once
more.

He walked from the police station a little pleased with himself. It was
the first time he had permitted himself to relax for many long hours,
and calm consideration told him that he had done well. The thing was
nearly over. To scour out any of Larry's associates who had so far
escaped would call for nothing more formidable than ordinary routine
and detail work, now that the mastermind was a fugitive who would of
a certainty be caught at any minute. It was a pity about Larry but
still----

He raised the knocker at the door of his lodgings. His matronly
landlady received him with warmth.

"Glad to see you back, sir. There have been all sorts of funny stories
round the town of things that have been happening. Don't know how you
came to miss Miss Noelson. She----"

Labar was wiping his boots on the map. "She's out, is she? Where has
she gone?"

The landlady's face dropped. "Why, she went to meet you. Didn't you
send her a note to meet you at the railway station?"

The detective gripped her by the shoulder and a wave of apprehension
swept over him. "I sent no note. How long ago was this?"

"A quarter of an hour. I----"

But Labar had flung away from her. He was running at the top of his
speed in the direction of the railway station. He was, perhaps for the
first time in his life, conscious of deadly fear. Instinctively he knew
that such a note could have only come from one person. How Larry Hughes
could have known where Penelope was, why he should take the heavy risk
of being in Rye at all were matters on which the detective did not stay
to reason. Enough it was to know that the girl was in danger.

He stayed only to fling an abrupt question to the porter guarding the
platform. "Has any train gone out in this last ten minutes?"

"No, sir. There's one on the other side just going out for London.
Heigh, you can't go through without a ticket."

But Labar thrust him aside and took the short cut over the rails
without troubling the bridge. Another porter roused by the shout of his
colleague rushed to stop him. Labar gave him a push in the chest which
sent him headlong.

"I'm a police officer," he cried. "Let me alone."

Normally he would have cried to the officials to stop the train, but
his mind was obsessed with the one idea, and for the moment incapable
of coherent reasoning. As he swept by the line of carriages he caught a
second's view of the guard with his flag raised and his whistle at his
lips.

The train began to move very slowly, but he was for the moment gaining
upon it, his eyes fixed upon the panorama of the carriage windows. One
glimpse he caught of a face that he knew, and jumped for the door of a
first-class carriage. In the corner of the compartment farthest from
him Larry Hughes was holding back Penelope with one hand while he faced
about with a snarl of rage at the intruder. The door stuck and Labar
wrestled fiercely to pull it open.

Abandoning the girl for the moment Larry leapt forward and aimed a blow
at the officer which had it reached him would probably have dashed him
from his precarious hold. Then like a wild cat the girl took a hand.
So vehement was her attack that Larry was pulled from his balance and
fell backwards on top of her. Before he could recover Labar was in the
carriage.

He had pulled his automatic but he dared not use it lest he should
hit Penelope. Dropping it upon the seat he dashed at the other man
with his naked hands. Larry was taken at a disadvantage, but, powerful
though the detective was, he was unable for a while to gain the
mastery. Pinned for the time beneath the two writhing, struggling men
the girl could do nothing. Indeed she stood in considerable danger of
injury for Labar dared not relax the fight that she might free herself.

Larry was not so big a man as Labar, but some dynamic power seemed to
keep him going. A passing fear came to Labar that the door would give
and precipitate the three of them on the line. He exerted all his force
to pin his antagonist to the floor, but Larry was as slippery as an eel.

The detective took the risk of suddenly releasing his man and stood
half upright. As Larry, too, tried to regain his feet Labar with
careful calculation swung at him. There was one hundred and eighty
pounds of muscular manhood behind the blow, and Larry dropped as if he
was shot. Labar dragged his body off the half-fainting girl and helped
her to a seat.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She smiled faintly upon him. "A bit bruised and breathless but
otherwise all right," she gasped.

Satisfied that she had suffered no material harm he turned his
attention to Larry Hughes. The girl was pale as she observed him
examine the victim of the knockout.

"Is he dead?" she said.

Labar laughed. "No, he's alive enough. He'll be as full of beans as
ever in five minutes' time. Let's see what we can do." He lifted the
unconscious man to a more convenient position. "Now if you can help me.
Hold his hands while I make sure of him."

She obeyed his instructions while Labar for want of anything
better--like most detectives he never carried handcuffs except for some
definite purpose--knotted his own handkerchief, and one taken from
Larry's breast pocket, about the prisoner's wrists so that his hands
were firmly lashed behind him.

"That's that," he observed, propping Larry up in a corner. "He'll do
till we reach a station. Now tell me how all this came about."

Careless whether Larry returned to consciousness or not he placed one
arm about her and bent his face to hers.

"I had a note," she explained, "signed with your initials telling me
that all was well and asking me to meet you at this train as it was
necessary that you should go to London immediately."

"Who brought the note?"

"Some boy. Probably a messenger picked up in the street. Of course
I went to the station at once, but could see no sign of you, nor of
anyone that I knew till the train was about to start. That was just a
little before you came. Then suddenly Larry Hughes was beside me. I was
startled, of course, but the audacity of the thing somehow prevented
any sense of alarm for the instant.

"'Don't be alarmed,' he said. 'You are looking for Labar?'

"'What are you doing here?' I cried. 'Where is Mr. Labar?' I was so
worried about you that I was unable to think clearly.

"'I am on parole till the train starts,' he declared. 'You will be
pleased to learn that I have surrendered, that I am a prisoner.'"

Labar interrupted her story. "My dear child. Don't tell me that you
were ingenuous enough to swallow that--to believe that I would let a
prisoner--especially Larry--move about on his own?"

"It does sound silly. I was off my balance I suppose. I did not
altogether believe it or disbelieve it. It sounded a little strange,
but then so many strange things have happened to me. I could not
account for his presence in Rye unless he had surrendered. He declared
that you were treating him as a gentleman, and that you had gone to
send a telegram and would be back in a minute. Malone was already in
the train.

"We walked along the train to find the compartment in which Malone was
supposed to be. All at once he gave me a quick push and thrust me into
the train. Instantly he followed, pinning me down to the seat with some
kind of jiu-jitsu hold, and with one hand over my mouth, but seating
himself so that it would be difficult for anyone passing along the
platform to notice what he was doing. Then you came."

In the other corner of the carriage Larry Hughes opened his eyes.

"A fool for luck, Labar," he said sardonically. "Things have come your
way with a vengeance."




                              CHAPTER XXX


Penelope impulsively gripped more tightly on Labar's arm, but the
detective could afford to take his antagonist's sneer with a certain
amount of equanimity.

"I told you that you couldn't go on bucking against the machine for
ever, Larry," he said. "And talking of fools, what made you mad enough
to go to Rye?"

Hughes fidgeted a little to get his bound hands in a more comfortable
position. "My dear Sherlock, if you had more brains and less luck,
you wouldn't ask me that question. Where is the last place that you
expected to find me to-day? Where are your people still looking for
me now? Not in Rye. Nor would they have looked very hard in London.
They're clustering round the ports interfering with innocent trippers.
Where would a hunted man with only ten pounds in his pocket make for
in the circumstances? I ask you. If he had any sense he'd go in the
direction that would be least obvious. He'd make for a place where he
could get funds and lay quiet till he could get snugly out of the
country."

"Sorry to have had to truss you up so tight," said Labar, as the
other writhed a little impatiently. "I wouldn't trouble to attempt to
loosen your hands." He left his seat and came over by Larry in obvious
readiness to deal with any contingency. "This is the finish, Larry. You
may as well take it easily."

Hughes sat quiet for a while. Then a bitter smile flickered about his
lips. "Machine or no machine, do you know what's thrown me down, Labar?
You and some of the dolts from Scotland Yard may preen yourselves, but
there's only one thing in it. Do you know Latin? _Quos Deus vult
perdere prius dementat._ In other words I made a fool of myself over
a woman." His glance rested for a moment on Penelope's face. "I mixed
love with my business. If I had left Miss Noelson alone would you have
known anything about 'Mope's Bottom'? You'd have had the devil's own
job to bring anything home to me. Even now I'd have been travelling
up to town, and left you and your gang running round in circles, if I
hadn't taken a desperate chance of snatching her at the last moment.
Yes, Miss Noelson, if it's any satisfaction to you it's you who have
finished me and not Scotland Yard."

"Go as far as you like," observed Labar. "The big fact is that here you
are and here I am. As a matter of curiosity how did you know where Miss
Noelson was to-day?"

"Easy," said Larry, contemptuously. "By the time I got to the town
every soul in it knew that there were happenings on the marsh. The
police knew, and the tradesmen knew, that a detective down from London
had started the affair. Rye isn't a big place and I know one or two of
the tradesfolk, although, of course, they didn't know I was the man all
the bother was about. I used my wits, Labar. Now let me ask how things
went at 'Mope's Bottom' after I left."

"We made a clean-up," explained the detective. "Nobody hurt very
seriously, but we've got the whole of the gang, and we've raided your
cache. You'll have to explain a lot of things."

Larry lifted his shoulders indifferently. "Oh, I'll take what's coming
to me. Let the boys down as light as you can. There's some white men
amongst them."

The detective made no reply and Larry subsided into a moody silence.

At the first stop Labar confided to Penelope a couple of wires to hand
from the window. He had no intention of taking his eyes from Larry. One
could never tell.

Thus it was that at Charing Cross a couple of men from Grape Street
were available as an escort for Larry, leaving Labar free to see the
girl safely settled at an hotel till some more permanent arrangement
could be made for her. Thence he made his way to Scotland Yard where
the omnipotent Commissioner of Police himself, was waiting to receive
some account of the affair and to offer his congratulations. By the
time Labar reached Grape Street the remainder of the prisoners had
been brought up from Lydd and Moreland was there to wring his hand and
perform a little war dance.

"So you've hooked Larry after all. Good for you, old bean. Let's go and
have a drink, and you can tell me all about it. Gad, I wouldn't wonder
if they made you an Assistant Commissioner after this."

Labar hooked his fingers in the lapels of his friend's waistcoat and
held him at arm's length. "Don't you be so mighty familiar with me,
Inspector Moreland. Remember that you are talking to your superior
officer."

"Gosh, they haven't?" Moreland opened his eyes in a wide stare. "Boy,
there's some live people at the Yard still whatever the papers say.
Chief Inspector Labar, if you'll leave off throttling me for a second,
I'll take off my hat to you. How an idle blighter like you got away
with it is beyond me. Now a real industrious, hard-working fellow like
myself never gets a chance."

Arm in arm the two departed for the threatened libation to Labar's
promotion. As they stood in the little snuggery of a bar, known to a
select few in one of the alleys off Piccadilly, Moreland paused with
his glass in his hand.

"There's something about you that I can't account for at the minute,
Harry," he said. "There's a smug complacency which makes me feel that
success isn't going to agree with you if--if it isn't due to something
else. Tell me has the wedding day been fixed?"

Labar came as near a blush as his tanned countenance would allow. He
grinned a little shamefacedly. "One or two things to think of first,"
he explained. "For instance there's the question of a best man. If I
could find some fellow who wouldn't let me down by playing the clown I
might be inclined to persuade her--the lady--to settle it as soon as
possible."

"You want a serious-minded, good-looking fellow, a man of distinction
and presence. I am flattered by your offer. If I have no more pressing
engagement on that day I'll be at the ringside. Now I'll pay for one
more drink and we must be on our way."

The two friends parted, for there was much to do on the morrow, and
Labar, at least, felt the need of a night's rest.

He was astir early in the morning, but as he propped the _Daily
Mail_ up by his eggs and bacon he forgot a healthy appetite as his
eyes scanned the page which was practically all devoted to the round-up
and captures of the preceding day. The final column of the "story" was
headed:

                 TRAGIC DEATH OF MR. SOLLY GERTSTEIN.

    Great Financier Dies of Heart Failure on Learning of his Wife's
    Arrest.

"A tragic episode was added to this great feat of Scotland Yard on the
receipt of the news in London last night. Some account of the affair
was published in the last editions of the evening papers, and in the
stop press column the name of Mrs. Adèle Gertstein was given in the
list of persons who were detained by the police.

"Late last evening Mr. Gertstein was found by one of his servants
sitting fully dressed in his room with a copy of an evening paper
clutched in his hand. A doctor was summoned but his assistance was of
no avail. Mr. Gertstein was dead...."

There followed a biographical sketch of the dead man's activities, and
some speculation as to what might happen to the fortune he had left.

Labar tossed the paper aside. "Poor old chap," he murmured. He turned
thoughtfully to his breakfast. He was sorry in a way for the fate that
had overtaken the little millionaire, but that was no reason why he
should go hungry. It was a tragedy, of course, but he did not feel any
personal responsibility. In charging Mrs. Gertstein he had acted merely
as an agent of the law. He wondered what Penelope would have to say
about it.

Nothing could alter what had happened. What was the use of worrying. He
finished his breakfast with zest, and pausing on his way out to glance
in a mirror in the hall to assure himself that he was scrupulously
dressed he set off for Grape Street.

Both Marlow, the detective superintendent, and Moreland were already
there, as well as a bunch of the divisional C.I.D. men. The inspector
who had taken charge of the division during Labar's absence, slid out
from his seat at the desk.

"Just about your last day as a divisional detective inspector," smiled
Marlow. "Slip into it, my lad. In an hour and a half you'll have to be
in court."

Labar flung himself on the pile of papers with desperate energy. He
perceived that Moreland had taken many matters of detail into his own
hands, for there were statements, signed by officers under the control
of the latter, among the mass of documents.

Now and then something arose on which he would seek the comment of his
two confrères. Then it would happen that one of the waiting divisional
staff would be despatched on some inquiry or other mission by which a
point might be made clear.

Although so many of the gang had been swept into the meshes of the
net with Larry there still remained--as was inevitable in such a wide
spread organisation--a number of associates whom it was essential to
run down. There was still more work in planning a course of campaign
among those merely suspected to be associates. In one or two cases it
was decided to make arrests with the reasonable certainty that evidence
to justify them would arise at a later stage. Now that Larry's reign
was over the detectives anticipated no difficulty with a class of
informant which had been rather shy while he remained at liberty.

Among those who were to be arrested and definitely charged was Gold
Dust Teddy. Detective Sergeant Down to whom was entrusted the execution
of this mission, received his orders with satisfaction. The absence of
Teddy was likely to make a difference in the statistics of crime.

"That's the lot," said Labar, at last. "We'll be able to use Stebbins
as King's evidence if the Public Prosecutor agrees. Not that the
evidence isn't clear enough without him. I suppose that I'll have to
see him now."

Marlow looked at his watch. "Not till after the court proceedings you
won't. Moreland had a chat with him some time after midnight. All
clear cut on the general matter. Every one will be charged to-day with
stealing and receiving the Gertstein stuff. It's only formal to-day and
other charges can be added at the next hearing."

"There's Mrs. Gertstein. I'm sure she was not in the robbery."

"No," said Moreland. "Do you think that I'm an ass. The case against
her is attempted murder and forgery."

"Plain sailing as far as things go at present," said Marlow. "But Larry
won't go down without a struggle. Take it from me that if there is
anything money can do it will be done. If there is any weakness in the
case it will be pulled to pieces at the Old Bailey."

To this proposition neither of the inspectors deemed it worth while
to reply. Indeed, it was self-evident. It would be doing Labar an
injustice to say that he did not care what happened at the trial.
Theoretically, of course, he should be as impartial as the jury. It
was his business--theoretically--to apprehend rogues on reasonable
suspicion, and to leave the question of their guilt or innocence to the
court.

In actual fact though prepared to present his case with fairness he was
determined to strain every nerve to ensure a conviction. He had covered
every possible point where evidence might be gathered according to his
own abilities, but he was certain that the distinguished counsel who
occupied the post of Public Prosecutor would point out other weaknesses
and ask him to follow up certain lines to strengthen the case. Human
nature is human nature even in the police force.

As Marlow had foreseen the biggest men at the criminal bar had been
retained for the prisoners. But the first hearing at the police court
was purely a formal affair, and Labar betook himself to the Home Office
to consult with the Public Prosecutor, whose cold trained legal brain
had already got a plan of campaign mapped out. The Solicitor-General
was to lead for the prosecution, and every legal resource at the
disposal of the Government was to be put at his disposition.

For only one person did Labar put in a plea for such leniency as could
be afforded. That was Sophie Lengholm.

"H'm." The Public Prosecutor frowned. "She's in the same class as
several of the others. We might tell the judge she saved your life. Is
there anything up against her besides the present case?" He rummaged
among his papers. "I have nothing here."

"I know of no other charge which we have any chance of substantiating,"
declared Labar.

"Then leave it as it is. We'll do what we can."

       *       *       *       *       *

The weeks passed with long, drawn-out hearings at the police court, and
the preliminary skirmishes of counsel. Almost every other day Labar
found the tangle which he was unravelling lead to the arrest of someone
or the other of the criminals who formed the aristocracy of crookdom in
the metropolis. Even he was surprised at the ramifications of Larry's
interests.

As a receiver on a wholesale scale Larry seemed to have dealt directly
or indirectly with half the rogues in London. As is the way in these
matters one thing led to another. The unearthing of a small receiver
who was in the habit of passing on his biggest loot to Larry Hughes,
would bring about the discovery of a nest of smaller crooks who had
scarcely heard of Larry.

"There'll be no work left for the C.I.D. if things go on like this,"
lamented Winter.

Labar had forgotten about golf although his handicap would be
seriously in danger. There were other things for him, which
circumstances would not allow him to neglect. He was no longer driving
a machine; he was part of a machine and willy-nilly he had to go
forward.

It must not be supposed that he did not have his occasional hours of
leisure. Penelope, however, had a mortgage upon these, and she did not
play golf, although she promised at a later stage to take it up.

"You see you're constitutionally a lazy man, Harry," she explained. "I
can't allow you to have any other interests but your work--and myself.
You'll soon have a wife to support."

"That's a point," he agreed. "But I'm not so sure that I want to marry
you after all. You see----"

She looked at him with perturbed eyes and pouting lips. "If----" she
began.

"I saw poor old Gertstein's solicitors to-day," he interrupted. "They
know how things stand between you and me, and they confided something
to me. It may make a difference."

"How?"

"It's his will. He's left the bulk of his fortune to nephews and other
distant relatives. Mrs. Gertstein is to get two thousand pounds a year,
and a similar sum has been left to you. The will was made a few days
before his death. So in a way you're an heiress, you see. And I'm only
a chief detective inspector getting a few hundreds a year."

She smiled and put her arms round his neck. "That all. Then I'll tell
you what we'll do. As soon as this case is over we'll get married--ever
so quietly--and you shall retire and play golf all day long if you want
to."

"I won't deny the first part of that proposition," he said. "On the
other I'm afraid I can't agree. I'm going on with my job. I'm not going
to live on my wife."

She kissed him. "Do you know that in some ways you're delightfully
early Victorian? But I love you for it. Go on being a policeman until
you are a thousand if you like."

"I'm afraid that they won't stand me that long," he reflected, with
half-whimsical seriousness. "They were finding me out before this case
began. I suppose I am an indolent man. It's a notorious fact. I hate to
be bored. When I joined the service I had funny ideas about detectives,
I thought of the excitement and not of the monotony. Now action stirs
me up. There's not a deal of fun in finding out a man who has pilfered
a hundredweight of coals out of a station yard, nor in sifting and
making out dry official papers day after day. That sends me into a kind
of stupor and my brain will not act. They'll certainly find out that
I'm a four-flusher one of these days."

"I think Mr. Winter knows more about you than you do yourself," she
protested.

"Yes. Winter's a downy bird. He knows that I've got a conscience. It
really used to hurt me to play golf sometimes," he fumbled in his
waistcoat pocket and his face turned a bright scarlet. "Say, dear----"

"Well?"

"Do you know I've forgotten--that is I haven't had time--I mean I meant
to--perhaps you've been wondering--well it comes to this----" He made a
desperate plunge. "The long and short of it is that I've been meaning
to get you a ring and--and----"

Her clear laughter rang through the room. "You've been too lazy to get
it."

"Not exactly that," he protested.

She shook her head reprovingly. "Don't stumble any more. You'll only
get in deeper. Have you any money on you?"

He displayed a well-filled wallet.

"That's all right. Stay right where you are. I'm going to put on my
things, and we're going out now, immediately. You're not going to
escape me, Harry Labar. I'm taking no risks. You buy me an engagement
ring in this next half hour and I'm going to stand over you and see
that you do it."

Thus Labar's betrothal was ratified. In spite of his gibes at himself
he settled down to his new job at Scotland Yard with some prospect of
success, partly because Winter had his eye on him, partly because the
work that came his way was of a congenial type.

The day came when Larry and his friends were brought up for trial at
the Old Bailey. Labar took his stand in the witness box for examination
at the hands of Treasury Counsel. His evidence began with that master
piece of condensation evolved by some long dead and gone police
official, "From evidence received----"

The reader of these pages will know more closely than most of those
who heard the trial how the information was acquired that led to the
imposition of a sentence of twenty years penal servitude upon Larry
Hughes, and terms varying from ten years downwards upon the rest of
his gang. Mrs. Gertstein, a broken woman, was sent to prison for five
years, while Sophie Lengholm, on the plea of counsel for the Crown was
given eighteen months hard labour.

Larry, self-possessed as ever, bowed to the judge with courtesy, and
waved his hand gaily to Labar in the well of the court.

"It's a long time, Labar," he cried. "But one of these times we shall
meet again. Give my love to----"

The warders hustled him out of the dock.


                               THE END.





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