The Hundred-pound Newspaper
Dowry came the hounds, bottles or no; my sanctuary was now one with Nineveh and Tyre; and ahead loomed an imminent prospect of clink. There was no time to argue or explain.
"Excuse me," I said, and cut for it again.
It would have been a simple matter, since I was nearest the door, to have closed the door behind, pulled out the loose spindle, and left my two companions imprisoned there. But I didn't want to do that. The door must be left as wide open as possible, for it was conceivable that the sight of a very unusual corpse would stop my pursuers long enough to give me a few seconds' lead.
Those policemen — there seemed to be two of them, right enough-could cover ground. I was myself no laggard about getting out into the hall, but they were within a step of the back door when I reached the front one. But I did not go out the front door: games like this had been played in the old days. I switched off the lights in the hall, opened the door, and closed it with a slam. Then I ducked across the dark hall into the half-open door of a room on the right-hand side, fronting the street.
It was a dark, stuffy, waxy little room, with the ghosts of antiquated furniture showing in the gleam of a street-lamp through the window. In my hands, carried automatically, was the newspaper in which I had been wrapping up the blottingpad: and it suggested an idea even as the law burst in at the back door. I had not expected Mrs. Antrim to scream, since she did not appear to be of the screaming sort, but it is not to be denied that at the entrance of the law she let out an appalling yip which at least served to direct their attention to the body. As fast as possible I was climbing out of the tunic, the helmet, and the belt. Perhaps they should have been tossed aside altogether, but I was reluctant to do that, having seen how useful a passport they were anywhere. My own coat I had been compelled to leave behind at the police station. So I took off my waistcoat, rolled up my sleeves, and tucked the shirt under at the neck, thus presenting a picture of a suburbanite taking the air en deshabille on a summer night. The rest of the stuff I rolled up in the newspaper, tucking under its edges, just as the sergeant was calling hoarsely out in the hall, and somebody pelted for the front door.
I went to the window and peered out cautiously behind the lace curtain. The street-lamp was feeble enough, and one larch threw a dense shadow at one side of the window. The front door opened. It was not the sergeant who came out; so far as I could make out, when he stopped briefly to flash his light round into the front yard, "Dennis" was one of the men who had been tinkering about with the Austin back at the police station. He had never seen my face. Dennis limped a little, and pressed one hand to the knee of his trousers.
When he twitched round, his face wore a malignancy which is never permitted to members of the Force, but which was justifiable. And he was not to be gulled by any such kid's trick as I had played. He ran out into the street, looked left and right along an empty road, made a brief play with his light into front gardens, and then swung back to the house. He knew I was still inside. You could tell it by the expression on his face under the street-lamp. I ducked back just in time, as the beam from his lamp flashed into my window, then across at the window opposite, and up. He hurried up the walk, and I heard him speaking to the sergeant just inside the front hall.
"Blow your whistle, then," said the sergeant's muffled tones. "Cover the front, and I'll keep the back until we "
It had to be risked. I got the window up as softly as I could manage, and slid across the sill with the paper-bundle in my arms. Dennis appeared to be well inside the door, and the shadow of the tree was strong. I went down flat, keeping well to the ground in some of the soggiest dew ever produced by the suburbs. The noise of the window being raised, and even the creak of a low fence as I got over it on to the pavement, was masked in the squawking of an aitchless uproar put up by Bowers inside the house. I was within an ace of getting away with it, with my feet solidly planted on the pavement, when Dennis swung out of the house not a dozen feet away, and saw me even as he put his police-whistle to his lips.
If I had tried to run away, if I had tried to walk away, or if I had even stood still, he would have been after me. Doubtless it is a question of what fraction of a second exists between the time the eye sees and the time the brain registers; but that split second, that flash of the dark world, is the quarry's only chance. The only chance is to walk straight up to the devil and pull his whiskers.
The gate of "The Larches" was less than five feet away. As Dennis looked up I strode towards it, turned boldly in at the gate with my bundle held in front of me, and almost ran into him.
"Why don't you look where's you're going?" I snarled.
"Laundry!" I added, and thrust the bundle at him.
This was too much.
"I don't want the sanguinary copulating laundry," howled
Dennis, who had been under a great strain that night. "Laundry," I persisted. "For Mrs. M'Corseter, Valley Road. She said it was urgent."
Dennis was so angry that, when he blew the police whistle, even the blast had a shaky querulousness. Through the hall door, half open, I could see the sergeant, followed by Bowers and Mrs. Antrim, going to cover the back door; if they turned round, it was nemesis and clink. I had to keep my voice to a hoarse plaintive mutter of the same sort. I thought of attempting to alter my countenance in that fashion which police tradition attributes to Charles Peace, but I decided on the value of artistic restraint. Although Dennis was momentarily off-guard, he might not care for the spectacle of a laundryman snaking faces at him in the front garden.
"Next door, he snapped. "She would," he added, apparently referring to Mrs. M'C. "Clear off! — stop a bit! Have you seen.?"
I said I hadn't. "But here! What do you fellows want to go crawling about on the roofs for? I saw a policeman climbing up on that there roof," I declared in an aggrieved tone, "and"
"Ah!" said Dennis. "Clear out, now!"
It was about time, since two more of the Law were coming up the street in the other direction. Dennis had turned towards the house to impart the intelligence that the fugitive had taken to the sparrow-tops, confirming their belief of his presence in the house. Those who were approaching on the pavement seemed to be within earshot, so I counted on the belief that they had heard Dennis's, "Clear out!" Forgetting Mrs. M'Corseter's, I turned away and strolled off in the opposite direction from them, whistling.
The seconds lengthened, but there was no sound of pursuit. I expected it, since matters would be clear enough if they should happen to spot that open window behind the shadow of the larch: yet there was no noise at all except a stir and mutter. Nobody else was in the street. Nevertheless, at any minute I might encounter another scouring-party, and they would not be in the same frame of mind as P.C. Dennis. I walked not too hurriedly, in the direction away from Liberia Avenue, breathing deeply of the night air and revolving murderous plans which concerned H.M. Just as a church-clock struck eleven somewhere to the west, I came to an intersecting street and saw what I had hoped for: a telephone-box.
It was illuminated, of course, and its glass sides gave no more shelter than a show-case; but once I could reach Charters or H.M. I was not concerned with that. Putting down my bundle, I felt in my pocket after coins. Then was when I remembered most distinctly that my wallet was in the breast pocket of the coat at the police station. In my trousers pocket I found the sum of threepence-halfpenny in coppers — no more.
Nevertheless, since Torquay was only ten odd miles off, threepence should suffice for the call. I got the Exchange, and explained exactly what I wanted, making it official business: I must speak personally with Colonel Charters, either at the central office or at his home. Even at the last moment I was afraid that the cussedness of all human events would prevent it, and I almost yelped with relief when, out of the buzzing and gear-shifting along the line, Charters's voice wormed through.
"My pal," I said, putting into it all the concentrated venom that the words would hold.
Either Charters or the telephone cleared its throat, noisily. Charters spoke in that stiff manner which authority always uses even when it has dropped a brick.
"Blake? Sorry, Blake. I'm afraid we've made a mistake. It's quite all right: you'll be released immediately: I've already sent the order through. Merrivale discovered I suppose you're at the police station?"
"No, I am not at the police station. I am at a telephone-box somewhere out in the wilds, in my shirtsleeves and with exactly one halfpenny in my pocket. The whole constabulary of Moreton Abbot has been chasing me for what seems like the last two days, after throwing me into clink on your order. In a bundle right here I've got a stolen policeman's uniform, a lantern, and the rest of my own clothes. I may add that I would like to strangle you with the necktie."
"You tried to escape? Blake, I didn't know you could be such a fool! If you had only been content to sit down and wait-"
I shut my eyes. "Colonel Charters," I said, "the time is short and it is no good arguing with a man who has a sense of gratitude like yours. What I am trying to tell you is that I DID escape. And before we go any farther, will you for God's sake tell me what did happen and why I was arrested?"
Charters was shaky and bewildered.
"It was Serpos — Joseph Serpos, you know. My secretary. I can't believe it, Blake; I never thought he'd do anything like that. As a matter of fact, he must have had it all planned out in advance. He planned to rob my safe here and make a getaway. He knows I'm not a rich man, of course, but still he doesn't seem to know that those things in the safe were exhibits in the Willoughby case. He wasn't here at the time we caught Willoughby. The fool! Anyhow, he packed a black bag and got into my car and drove away over an hour before you left…"
"Yes, but why arrest me?"
"It was Dr. Antrim's fault. Antrim says he met you going down the drive. He was nervous, or muddled, or I don't know what. Just as you left, you remember, Merrivale and I were going to look at the exhibits in the Willoughby case. We discovered the robbery — and a polite, finicky note from Serpos saying he was leaving, and it would be useless to try to track him. Just then Antrim came in. For some reason he seemed to have unholy suspicions of you. He swore you must have robbed the safe, because he'd seen you escaping in my car. Naturally we knew it was Serpos who had robbed it, but we thought Serpos had pinched Merrivale's Lanchester because it was faster…. Whereupon," said Charters bitterly, "Merrivale conceived the brilliant and subtle idea that the whole switch of cars was a plot: that Serpos had deliberately chosen the Lanchester so that we should think you had gone in it: that Serpos, if he were stopped, would pretend to be you. So I sent out an order to arrest a man in a Lanchester numbered AXA 564, who would carry a black bag and might give the name of Blake. Antrim swore flatly, you see, that you'd gone away in a blue Hillman.
"He must be blind. They don't look anything alike. Besides there was somebody else there when I talked to Antrim: an American named Stone."
"Who," said Charters grimly, "said he didn't know one of our cars from another. Don't talk to me about Stone! There was the hell of a row up here between him and Merrivale; but never mind that now. We didn't tumble to the business about the cars until I got the message that the black bag of the sinister criminal they bad caught contained a set of burglar's tools." (In the background I could hear H.M.'s voice squawking fiendishly, apparently with some protest or some message he wanted transmitted.) "But I suppose you don't see you've ruined everything, Blake? I don't know how you escaped. All the same, you won't have a chance now to have a look at Hogenauer's house, or in the big desk, or "
"On the contrary," I said, "on the contrary, I have already done it in spite of your bloodhounds."
I recounted all the facts, as fast and as concisely as I could. In the middle of it the Exchange butted in for some more money, but we got the charges reversed after some wrangling. Also, there appeared to be a little trouble at the other end of the wire while Charters was passing on the information as I gave it. I could hear H.M. in the background, and another voice as well. I concluded by quoting
word for word, as far as I could remember, the words on the blotter.
"Consequently, I shouldn't have got away at all if the coppers hadn't been so flabbergasted at discovering that body that they were off balance. And here's the point: it's all very well to say you've telephoned through to the police station and told them to release me. But the point is that now they want me as the key witness in a murder case. Even though they're convinced I didn't have anything to do with the murder, still it'll be cheerio to any wedding to-morrow if they catch up with me. Will you try to get busy and think of a way out of this?"
Hogenauer-drank-strychnine — " said Charters dully. The telephone seemed to go dead, and I jiggled it. "Merrivale will take over," Charters added.
"How de do, Ken?" rumbled H.M.'s voice, casually.
"As to your part in this affair," I said, "I remain coldly silent. But in all fairness, have another inspiration! Think of some subtle means by which I can pull myself out of this. Can you do it?"
"Well… now," said the old man. I could picture him scratching the side of his jaw with one finger. "I been sittin' and thinkin' here in the last couple of minutes, and I believe I got it. Uh-huh, we can get you out of it-1'
"Yes?"
`The envelope is in the upper left-hand pigeon-hole in Keppel's desk at the Cabot Hotel, Bristol'," H.M. quoted. "Well, now, Ken," he said with an air of inspiration, "the only thing for you to do is to hurry on to Bristol and pinch that envelope before Keppel gets back. Hey?"
I stood back and studied the telephone. For sheer, consummate, unadulterated nerve; for nerve which sprang like a fountain at the stars and poured like a cataract into a voiceless pit; this proposal seemed to outmatch anything I had heard that night.
"Won't you be satisfied until I stay in jail?" I inquired. "Is it absolutely necessary for me to get twenty years in order to make you happy? What's the matter with you, anyway? H.M., I won't do it, and that's flat."
"I bet you do, though," said the old man gleefully. "You want to bet, hey? Listen, Ken. Dammit, don't carry on like that! You're goin' to do it of your own free will. Do you know who's at Charter's place, do you know who's standin' at my elbow talkin' to me this very minute? Well, I'll tell you. It's your light o' life, your petit morceau de fluff, your intended bride, Evelyn Cheyne…" "What?"
"Uh-huh. (Shut up, wench!)" He howled at someone behind him, and then turned back to the telephone. "How can I help it if she follows you? Am I to blame if she insists on chasm her true love? She got here not ten minutes after you'd left, walked in bright and breezy and beamin', and said she wasn't going to miss whatever fireworks were on display. Now, if you won't go to Bristol, she's offered to go herself; so I think you better go along and protect her. She takes awful chances, son…’
"No, it ain't `blackmail,' either! Don't you say that. Bum me, Ken, can't you see this is the only way to do it? If it'll comfort you any, I'll absolutely guarantee that Charters and I can arrange it so that you don't get dragged into this business of Hogenauer's death at all, so that you ain't called as a witness and never show your nose anywhere. But I can't do it immediately: I mean I can't do it smack within the next couple of hours: there's got to be some wire-pullin' first. D'ye see that? And it's the next couple of hours that count. Ken, you got to go on to Bristol straight as a homin' crow, and pinch that envelope before Keppel gets back to his hotel. You got to go by train, too. It's a pretty long way, and what we want is speed."
"With a halfpenny in my pocket," I said, "and without a coat-'
"Sure!" agreed H.M. comfortably, "and that's where the wench comes in. There's a late train up from Plymouth that gets into Moreton Abbot at 11.20. It's a fast train to London, but it makes several stops, and Bristol is one of 'em. It'll be touch-and-go if we can make it, but we'll snap the wench to Moreton Abbot as fast as we can, and I think she can make it. You meet her on the platform. She can't pick you up where you are, because the station's clear over at the other side of town from Valley Road, and she'd miss the train for sure. She'll meet you at the station with plenty of money, and one of Charters's coats if you're so goddam sartorially fussy. And there you are. Hey?"
"That's fine. What if she misses the train?"
"Now, now," growled H.M. soothingly. "You can find a way to Bristol if she does. We got to hurry, Ken. Bye-bye."
The line went dead.
Even that little thread of communication was cut off. In vain I jiggled the hook. In vain I pointed out to unresponsive carbon that I had never before been in Moreton Abbot in my life, and had no notion as to where the railway-station might be — except the encouraging fact that it was on the other side of town. Under the circumstances, I should probably have to ask a policeman.
However, it would not do to remain in an illuminated box on a street corner, open to any inspection. I stepped out into a grateful cool after the thick heat of that box, and still the gloomy streets seemed deserted. At random I chose a turning (it had high hedges on either side, and was sufficiently ill-lighted), where I leaned back against the hedge to consider the position.
To get to that station there was only one course I could safely employ, but it was the best one. I still had my Compleat Policeman's outfit. There were still plenty of motor-cars abroad. I could put on the outfit again, stop some car with official stateliness, and ask to be driven to the station in order to head off a wanted man whom we believed to be escaping by the 11.20 train.
It did no good merely to stand and swear. My wench, with her usual taste for devilment, had insisted on walking straight into the middle of this tangle: and now it appeared that I must see her through it. I should have been warned by Evelyn's chortle of pleasure that afternoon, and her suspicious meekness when I had ordered her to stay behind. It occurred to me to wonder what her father, the major-general, might be thinking at that moment. Of course, our being together made it a little better, but it did not improve the hare-brained course. It is all very well to talk of the open road, the bright eyes of danger, and similar cliches, but I am a Scot and I have a Scot's caution.
For I couldn't make any sense of the puzzle: I wondered most of all what H.M. made of it. In the matter of expressing opinions about anything, it is usually almost impossible to stop him. But he had said nothing. Of course, it may have been the telephone. Like myself, H.M. dislikes talking at length over the telephone: he prefers talking face to face: and protracted conversations on a wire make him fidget. We were both inclined to throw the facts at each other quickly and disjointedly. Yet I had not even been able to learn what it was Serpos had stolen out of the safe, something which seemed to be so valuable and over which so much fuss had been made.
And that was nothing compared to the curious circumstances of the murder. Back at "The Larches" in Valley Road, a man sat dead of strychnine poisoning. The centre of the puzzle was clear enough — obviously he had mixed the dose himself, mistaking it for bromide, in a glass of particularly nauseous mineral-water — but the edges were clouded. We had a series of events like this:
This morning, at breakfast, Hogenauer told Bowers he was going to Bristol, that he had made certain Keppel would be out, and that he meant to pay a secret visit to Keppel's hotel. He also warned Bowers to expect a visitor at "The Larches" that night, presumably Keppel himself. During the morning, Hogenauer wrote a letter to someone he addressed as "Your Excellency," beginning at one fragment with a reference to "fast planes," mentioning that he would "make the attempt to-night" on an envelope in Keppel's desk, and breaking off with a remark about valuable knowledge. Keppel was now believed to be in Moreton Abbot. On the same morning, he came to see Hogenauer, and when he left — according to Bowers — Hogenauer gave him something which locked like "an envelope folded in half." Hogenauer was last seen alive by Bowers at six o'clock, when Bowers left the house. At this time Hogenauer warned Bowers of a prospective visitor that night, adding that Bowers would probably not see him. Hogenauer drank the poison about a quarter to nine o'clock. His body was discovered, a little over a half an hour afterwards, by Mrs. Antrim. The door of the room was locked on the inside. Inside the room (a) a number of articles of furniture had been changed round, (b) a light placed on the mantelshelf indicated a gap in the shelves from which two books on aeronautics were missing, and (c) on Hogenauer's desk were four pairs of cuff-links.
At this point I realized that I must stop puzzling and get to business. It would not do to delay too long in getting to the station. I unwrapped my bundle. I put on waistcoat and tie again, and commenced buttoning up the policeman's tunic for the second stage of my adventures. My watch, still safe in the waistcoat pocket, said that it was now fifteen minutes past eleven. Over the top of a rise appeared the
head-lamps of a car, crawling leisurely, and it was now time to act. I tossed away the newspaper — which had served several purposes that night since Mrs. Antrim said she had found it in the scullery-and, as it flopped wide in the hedge, it served its last purpose. Something white fluttered
out of the now loose pages, and fell on the pavement.
I picked it up. It was a £ 100 bank-note.