Open it, said the colonel in a low voice; "open it, Crewe"--he pulled open the drawer and took out something--"and if it is Jack o' Judgment----"
Crewe opened the door, his heart beating at a furious rate, but it was Selby who came into the room and faced the half-levelled gun of the colonel.
What do you want? asked Boundary quickly. "You fool, I told you not to lose sight of her----"
But when is she coming down? asked Selby. "I've been waiting there all this time and there's a policeman at the corner of the street--I wondered whether you had seen him too."
Not come down? said the colonel. "She left here five minutes ago!"
She hasn't come down, he said, "and I've certainly not passed her on the stairs. Is there any other way out?"
No way that she could use, said the colonel shaking his head. "I've had new locks put on all the doors." He thought a moment. "If she hasn't come down she's gone up."
They went up the stairs together and searched, first Pinto's flat, and then the store-rooms and empty apartments on the floor higher up.
Go down to the door and wait, in case she tries to get out, said the colonel.
He returned to the room with the two men and they looked at one another in frank astonishment.
Have you any idea what's happened, Crewe? asked the colonel suspiciously.
No idea in the world, said Crewe.
But she went downstairs, said the colonel. "I heard the alarm click."
The alarm? questioned Crewe.
I've got a buzzer under one of the treads of the stairs, said the colonel. "It is useful to know when people are coming up."
* * * * *
Ten minutes passed and Selby returned to say that the policeman had been making inquiries as to whom the car belonged.
You'd better get it away, said the colonel, "and send away your men."
They've gone, said the other. "I wasn't taking any risks."
He disappeared to carry out the colonel's instructions, and they heard the whine of the moving car.
Boundary unlocked his tantalus and took out a full decanter of whisky. Without a word he poured three stiff doses into as many glasses and filled them with soda. Each man was thinking, and thinking after his own interests.
Well, gentlemen, said the colonel at last. "I incline to give this business best."
He looked up and saw the dagger which Pinto had thrown. It was still embedded in the wall.
It isn't enough that I should have Jack o' Judgment messing my room about, he growled, "but you must do something to the same wall! Pull it out and don't let me see it again, Pinto."
The Portuguese smiled sheepishly, walked to the wall and gripped the handle. Evidently the point had embedded in a lath, for the knife did not move. He pulled again, exerting all his strength and this time succeeded in extracting not only the knife but a large portion of the plaster and a strip of the wallpaper.
You fool! said the colonel angrily, "see what you have done--Jumping Moses!"
He walked to the wall and stared, for the dislodgment of plaster and paper had revealed three round black discs, set flush with the plaster and only separated from the room by the wallpaper, which had been stripped.
Jumping Moses! said the colonel softly. "Detectaphones!"
He took Pinto's knife from his hand and prised one of the discs loose. It was attached to a wire which was embedded in the plaster and this the colonel severed with a stroke of the knife.
This is the business end of a microphone, he said.
The voice! gasped Pinto, and the colonel nodded.
Of course. I was mad not to guess that, he said. "That's how he heard and that's how he spoke. Now, we're going to get to the bottom of this."
With a knife he slashed the plaster and exposed three wires that led straight downward and apparently through the floor. The colonel rested and eyed the debris thoughtfully.
What is under this flat? Lee's office, isn't it? Of course, Lee's! he said. "I'm the fool!"
He handed the knife back to Pinto, took an electric torch from his pocket and led the way from the flat. They passed down the half-darkened stairs to the floor beneath, on which was situated the three sets of offices. The colonel took a bunch of keys and tried them on the door of the surveyor's office. Presently he found one that fitted, and the door opened. He fumbled about for the electric switch, found it and flooded the room with light. It was a very ordinary clerk's office, with a small counter, the flap of which was raised. Inside the flap he saw something white on the floor, and, stooping, picked it up. It was a lady's handkerchief.
L, he read. "That sounds like Lollie. Do you know this, Crewe?"
Crewe took the handkerchief and nodded.
That is Lollie's, he said shortly.
I thought so. This is where she was when we were looking for her. Here with Jack o' Judgment, eh? Let's try the inner office.
The inner office was locked, but he had no difficulty in gaining admission. Inside this was a private office which was simply furnished and had in one corner what appeared to be a telephone box. He opened the glass door and flashed his lamp inside. There was a little desk, a pair of receivers fastened to a headpiece, and a small vulcanite transmitter.
This is where he sat, said the colonel meditatively, pointing to a stool, "and this----" he lifted up the earpieces--"is how he heard all our very interesting conversations. Go upstairs, Pinto, I want to try this transmitter."
He fixed the receiver to his ears and waited, and presently he heard distinctly the sound of Pinto closing the door of the room upstairs. Then he spoke through the receiver.
Do you hear me, Pinto?
I hear you distinctly, said Pinto's voice.
Speak a little lower. Carry on a conversation with yourself and let me try to hear you.
Pinto obeyed. He recited something from the Orpheum revue, a line or two of a song, and the colonel heard distinctly every syllable. He replaced the earpieces where he had found them, closed the door of the box and that of the outer office, and led the way upstairs. The whisky still stood upon the table and he lifted a glass and drained it at a draught.
If you're a linguist, Crewe, you'll have heard of the phrase: _Sauve qui peut_. It means 'Git!' And that's the advice I'm giving and taking. To-morrow we'll meet to liquidate the Boundary Gang and split the Gang Fund.
He turned his companions out to get what sleep they could. For him there was little sleep that night. Before the dawn came, he was at Twickenham, examining a big motor-launch that lay in a boat-house. It was the launch which should have carried Lollie Marsh and Selby on their river and sea journey. It was provisioned and ready for the trip. But first the colonel had to take from a locker in the stern of the boat a small black box and disconnect the wires from certain terminals before he stopped a little clock which ticked noisily. He had tuned his bomb to go off at four in the morning, by which time, he calculated, Lollie Marsh and her escort would be well out to sea. For the colonel regarded no evidence that might be brought against him as unimportant.
The colonel was sleeping peacefully when Pinto rushed into his bedroom with the news. He was awake in a second and sat up in bed.
What! he said incredulously.
Selby's pinched, said Pinto, his voice shaking. "My God! It's awful! It's dreadful! Colonel, we've got to get away to-day. I tell you they'll have us----"
Just shut up for a minute, will you? growled the colonel, swinging out of bed and searching for his slippers with the detached interest of one who was hearing a little gossip from the morning papers. "What is the charge against him?"
Loitering with intention to commit a felony, said Pinto. "They took him to the station and searched his bag. He had brought a bag with him in preparation for the journey. And what do you think they found?"
I know what they found, said the colonel; "a complete kit of burglar's tools. The fool must have left his bag in the hall and of course Jack o' Judgment planted the stuff. It is simple!"
What can we do? wailed Pinto. "What can we do?"
Engage the best lawyer you can. Do it through one of your pals, said the colonel. "It will go hard with Selby. He's had a previous conviction."
Do you think he'll split? asked Pinto.
He looked yellow and haggard and he had much to do to keep his teeth from chattering.
Not for a day or two, said the colonel, "and we shall be away by then. Does Crewe know?"
Pinto shook his head.
I haven't any time to run about after that swine, he said impatiently.
Well, you'd better do a little running now then, said the colonel. "We may want his signature for the bank."
What are you going to do?
I'm going to draw what we've got and I advise you to do the same. I suppose you haven't made any preparations to get away, have you?
No, lied Pinto, remembering with thankfulness that he had received a letter that morning from the aviator Cartwright, telling him that the machine was in good order and ready to start at any moment. "No, I have never thought of getting away, colonel. I've always said I'll stick to the colonel----"
H'm! said the colonel, and there was no very great faith in Pinto revealed in his grunt.
Crewe came along an hour later and seemed the least perturbed of the lot.
Here's the cheque-book, said the colonel, taking it from a drawer. "Now the balance we have," he consulted a little waistcoat-pocket notebook, "is L81,317. I suggest we draw L80,000, split it three ways and part to-night."
What about your own private account? asked Pinto.
That's my business, said the colonel sharply. He filled in the cheque, signed his name with a flourish and handed the pen to Crewe.
Crewe put his name beneath, saw that the cheque was made payable to bearer, and handed the book to the colonel.
Here, Pinto. The colonel detached the form and blotted it. "Take a taxi-cab, see Ferguson, bring the money straight back here. Or, better still, go on to the City to the New York Guaranty and change it into American money."
Do you trust Pinto? asked Crewe bluntly after the other had gone.
No, said the colonel, "I don't trust Pinto or you. And if Pinto had plenty of time I shouldn't expect to see that money again. But he's got to be back here in a couple of hours, and I don't think he can get away before. Besides, at the present juncture," he reflected, "he wouldn't bolt because he doesn't know how serious the position is."
Where are you going, colonel? asked Crewe curiously. "I mean, when you get away from here?"
Boundary's broad face creased with smiles.
What a foolish question to ask, he said. "Timbuctoo, Tangier, America, Buenos Ayres, Madrid, China----"
Which means you're not going to tell, and I don't blame you, said Crewe.
Where are you going? asked the colonel. "If you're a fool you'll tell me."
Crewe shrugged his shoulders.
To gaol, I guess, he said bitterly, and the colonel chuckled.
Maybe you've answered the question you put to me, he said, "but I'm going to make a fight of it. Dan Boundary is too old in the bones and hates exercise too much to survive the keen air and the bracing employment of Dartmoor--if we ever got there," he said ominously.
What do you mean? demanded Crewe.
I mean that, when they've photographed Selby and circulated his picture, somebody is certain to recognise him as the man who handed the glass of water over the heads of the crowd when Hanson was killed----
Was it Selby? gasped Crewe. "I wasn't in it. I knew nothing about it----"
The colonel laughed again.
Of course you're not in anything, he bantered. "Yes, it was Selby, and it is ten chances to one that the usher would recognise him again if he saw him. That would mean--well, they don't hang folks at Dartmoor." He looked at his watch again. "I expect Pinto will be about an hour and a half," he said. "You will excuse me," he added with elaborate politeness "I have a lot of work to do."
He cleared the drawers of his writing-table by the simple process of pulling them out and emptying their contents upon the top. He went through these with remarkable rapidity, throwing the papers one by one into the fire, and he was engaged in this occupation when Pinto returned.
Back already? said the colonel in surprise, and then, after a glance at the other's face, he demanded: "What's wrong?"
Pinto was incapable of speech. He just put the cheque down upon the table.
Haven't they cashed it? asked the colonel with a frown.
They can't cash it, said Pinto in a hollow voice. "There's no money there."
The colonel picked up the cheque.
So there's no money there to meet it? he said softly. "And why is there no money there to meet it?"
Because it was drawn out three days ago. I thought---- said Pinto incoherently. "I saw Ferguson, and he told me that a cheque for the full amount came through from the Bank of England."
In whose favour was it drawn?
Pinto cleared his throat.
In favour of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, he said. "That's why Ferguson passed it without question. He said that otherwise he would have sent a note to you."
The Chancellor of the Exchequer! snarled the colonel. "What does it mean?"
Look here! Ferguson showed it me himself. He took a copy of _The Times_ from his pocket and laid it on the table, pointing out the paragraph with trembling fingers.
It was in the advertisement column and it was brief:
The Chancellor of the Exchequer desires to acknowledge the receipt of L81,000 Conscience Money from Colonel D. B.
Conscience money!
The colonel sat back in his chair and laughed softly. He was genuinely amused.
Of course, we can get this back, he said at last. "We can explain to the Chancellor of the Exchequer the trick that has been played upon us, but that means delay, and at the moment delay is really dangerous. I suppose both you fellows have money of your own? I know Pinto has. How do you stand, Crewe?"
I have a little, said Crewe, "but honestly, I was depending upon my share of the Gang Fund."
What about you, colonel? asked Pinto meaningly. "If I may suggest it, we should pool our money and divide."
The colonel smiled.
Don't be silly, he said tersely. "I doubt whether my balance at the bank is more than a couple of thousand pounds."
But what about your private safe? persisted Pinto. "A-ha! You didn't know I knew that, did you? As a matter of fact, Ferguson told me----"
What the devil does Ferguson mean by discussing my business? said the colonel wrathfully. "What did he tell you?"
He told me that the package was received and that he had put it with the other in your safe.
Package! The colonel's voice was quiet, almost inaudible. "The package was received! When was the package received?"
Yesterday, said Pinto. "He said it came along and he put it with the other. Now what have you got in----"
But the colonel was walking towards his bedroom with rapid strides. Presently he reappeared with his hat and coat on.
Come with me, Crewe. We'll go down to the bank, he said. "You stay here, Pinto, and report anything that happens."
When they were on their way he confided to the other:
I have a little money put aside, he said, "and I'm willing to finance you. You haven't been a bad fellow, Crewe. The only rotten turn you've ever done us is introducing that damned fellow, 'Snow' Gregory, and you didn't even do that, for I had met him before you brought him from Monte--which reminds me. Have you found out anything about him?"
I have a letter here from Oxford, said Crewe, putting his hand in his pocket. "I hadn't opened my letters when Pinto came. You'll find all the news there, if there is any news."
He handed the envelope to the other and the colonel transferred it to his pocket.
That'll keep, he said. "What was I talking about? Oh, yes, Gregory. The whole of this business has come about through Gregory. Gregory made Jack o' Judgment, and Jack o' Judgment has ruined us."
He sprang from the taxi at the door of the bank with an agile step, and went straight to the manager's office. Without any preliminary he began:
What is this package that came for me yesterday, Ferguson?
The manager looked surprised.
It was an ordinary package, similar to that which you put in the safe the other day. It was sealed and wrapped and had your name on it. I rather wondered you hadn't brought it yourself, but it was put into your safe in the presence of two clerks.
I'd like to see it, said the colonel.
Ferguson led the way down the stairs to the vaults and snapped back the lock of Safe 20. As he did so Crewe was conscious of a faint, musty odour.
I smell something, said the colonel suspiciously.
He reached his hand into the safe and pulled open the long drawer, and as he did so a cloud of sickly-smelling vapour rose from its interior. For the first time Crewe heard Boundary groan. He pulled the drawer out under the light and looked in. There was nothing but a black mass of pulp, out of which glinted and gleamed a dozen pin-points of light.
With a howl of rage the colonel turned the contents upon the stone floor of the vault and raked it over with the end of his walking-stick. The diamonds were intact, and they at least were something; but the greater part of eight hundred thousand dollars was indistinguishable from any other kind of paper that had been treated with one of the most destructive acids known to chemical science.
The colonel wiped his burnt and discoloured hands after he had dropped the last diamond into a medicine bottle which the bank manager happened to have in the room.
That's something saved from the wreck, at any rate, he said.
He had gone suddenly old, and his mouth trembled, as many a younger mouth had trembled in despair that Colonel Boundary might become a rich man.
Something saved from the wreck, he repeated slowly.
The manager's grave eyes were fixed on his.
I'm not blaming you, Ferguson, said the colonel. "It was a plot to ruin me, and it succeeded."
What do you think happened? asked the troubled Ferguson.
The second package was a box filled with a very strong acid, said the colonel. "Probably the box was made of soft metal, through which the acid would eat in a few hours. It was placed in the safe, and in time the corrosive worked through----"
He shrugged his shoulders and left the room without another word.
Thirty-five years' work that represents, Crewe, he said as they were driving back to the flat; "thirty-five years of risk and thought and organisation, and ended in pulp--stinking pulp--that burns your fingers when you touch it."
He began to whistle and Crewe noticed with curiosity that he chose the "Soldiers' Chorus" from "Faust" for the dirge to his lost fortune.
Jack o' Judgment! he said wonderingly. "Jack o' Judgment! Well, he's had his judgment all right, and I'm going to have mine. You needn't tell Pinto what happened this morning. Leave him guessing. He's got a pretty thick bank-roll, and I'll agree to that grand scheme of his for sharing out."
The thought seemed to cheer him, and by the time they reached the flat he was almost jovial.
Well, what's the news? asked Pinto eagerly.
Fine, said the colonel. "Everything is as it should be."
Stop rotting, growled the other. "What is the news?"
The news, my lad, said the colonel, "is that I've decided to agree to your unselfish suggestion."
What's that? said the unsuspicious Pinto.
That we should pool and divide.
Jack o' Judgment's got your money, too! said Pinto, who cherished no illusions about the colonel's generosity.
How well he knows me! said Boundary. "Now, come, Pinto, we're all in this, sink or swim. I told Crewe going down that I intended dividing; didn't I, Crewe?"
You said something like that, said Crewe cautiously.
Now we'll pool our money, said the colonel, "and split three ways. I'll make a fair proposition. We'll divide it into four and the man who puts in the most shall take two shares. Is it a bet?"
I suppose so, said Pinto reluctantly. "What is the truth about your money? Did Jack o' Judgment get it?"
I hadn't any money, said the colonel blandly. "I've about a thousand pounds hidden away in this room; that is all, if Jack hasn't been in."
He unlocked the safe and made an inspection.
Yes, a little over a thousand, if anything. How much have you, Crewe?
Three thousand, said Crewe.
That makes four thousand. Now what have you got, Pinto?
I've about five thousand, said Pinto, trying to appear unconcerned.
The colonel made a little whistling noise through his teeth.
Bring fifty, he said. "I'm dead serious, Pinto. Bring fifty!"
But how can I get it? demanded the other frantically.
Get it, said the colonel. "It is highly probable that it will be of no use to any of us. Let us at least have the illusion of being well off."
* * * * *
In greater leisure than either of her three companions in crime were exhibiting, Lollie Marsh was preparing to take her departure to New York. She was packing at leisure in her cosy flat on Tavistock Avenue, stopping now and again to consider the problem of the superfluous article of clothing--a problem which presents itself to all packers.
Between whiles she arrested her labours to think of something else. Kneeling down by the side of her trunk, she would give herself up to long reveries, which ended in a sigh and the resumption of her packing.
By the commonly accepted standards of civilisation she was a wicked woman, but there are degrees of wickedness. She had searched her mind to recall all the qualms she had felt in her long association with the Boundary Gang, and took an unusual pleasure in her strange recollection. She remembered when she had refused to be drawn into the Crotin fraud; she recalled her stormy interview with the colonel when she declined to take a part in the ruining of young Debenham.
But mostly she was glad that she had never gone any farther to carry out the colonel's instructions in regard to Stafford King. Not that she would have succeeded, she told herself with a little smile, but she was glad she had never seriously tried. Her mind switched to Crewe and switched back again. Crewe's was the one face she did not wish to see, the one member of the gang that she put aside from the others and wilfully veiled. Crewe had always been kind to her, always courteous, her champion in all bad times, and yet had never made love to her. She wondered what had brought him down to his present level, and why a man possessed of education, and who at one time, as she knew, had been an officer in a crack regiment, should have fallen so readily under Boundary's influence.
She made a little face and went on with her packing. She did not want to think about Crewe for obvious reasons. Yet, as he had said---- But he hadn't said, she told herself. Very likely he was married, though that fact did not greatly trouble the girl. Such men as these have always a good as well as a bad past, pleasant as well as bitter memories, and possibly he included amongst the former the recollection of a girl whose shoelaces Lollie Marsh was not fit to tie.
She took a delight in torturing herself with pictures of her own humiliation, though she may have counted it to the good that she was capable of feeling humiliated at all. She finished her trunk, squeezed in the last article and locked down the lid. She looked at her wrist watch--it was half-past nine. Stafford King had not asked to see her, and she had the evening free.
She had only spoken the truth when she had told Boundary that the police chief had made no inquiries as to the gang. Stafford King knew human nature rather well, and he would not make the mistake of questioning her. Or perhaps it was because he did not wish to spoil the value of his gifts by fixing a price--the price of treachery.
She wondered what the colonel was doing, and Pinto--and Crewe. She impatiently stamped her foot. She was indulging in the kind of insanity of which hitherto she had shown no symptoms. She looked at her watch again and then remembered the Orpheum. It was a favourite house of hers. She could always get a free box if there was one vacant, and she had spent many of her lonely evenings in that way. She had always declined Pinto's offer to share his own, and of late he had got out of the habit of inviting her.
She dressed and took a taxi to the Orpheum. The booking office clerk knew her, and without asking her desires drew a slip from the ticket rack.
I can give you Box C to-night, Miss Marsh, he said. "That is the one above the governor's."
The "governor" was Pinto.
Have you a good house?
The youth shook his head.
We're not having the houses we had when Miss White was here, he said. "What's become of her, miss?"
I don't know, said Lollie shortly.
She had to pass to the back of Pinto's box to reach the little staircase which led to the box above. She thought she heard voices, and stopping at the door, listened. Perhaps Crewe had come down or the colonel. But it was not Crewe's voice she heard. The door was slightly ajar, and the man who was talking was evidently on the point of departure, because she glimpsed his hand upon the handle and his voice was so distinct that he must have been quite near her.
----three o'clock in the morning. You can't miss the aerodrome. It is a mile out of Bromley on the main road and on the right. You will see three red lamps burning in a triangle.
The aerodrome! She put her hand to her mouth to suppress an exclamation. Pinto was talking, but his voice was a mumble.
Very good, said the strange voice. "I can carry three or four passengers if you like. There's plenty of room--of course, if you're by yourself, so much the better. I shall expect you at three o'clock. The weather's beautiful."
The door opened and she crouched against the wall so that the opening door hid her, and heard Pinto call the man back by name.
Cartwright! she repeated. "Cartwright. A mile out of Bromley on the main road. Three lamps in a red triangle!"
She was going to slip up the stairs, but the door had closed on Cartwright, and making a swift decision she passed the box and came again into the vestibule of the theatre. Presently she saw the man appear. She guessed it was he by the smile on his face, and when he said "Good night" to the attendant at the barrier she recognised his voice. She followed him but let him get outside the theatre before she spoke to him. Then suddenly she laid her hand on his arm: "Mr. Cartwright!"
He looked round into her smiling face in surprise, taking off his hat.
That is my name, he said with a smile. "I don't remember----"
Oh, I'm a friend of Mr. Silva, she said. "I've heard a lot about you."
Oh, indeed? said he.
He was a little puzzled because he thought that the projected flight was a dead secret; and she guessed his thoughts.
You won't tell Mr. Silva I told you? He begged me not to repeat it to anybody, even to you. But he's leaving to-morrow morning, isn't he?
He nodded.
I know an awful lot, she said, and then: "Won't you come and have supper with me? I'm starving!"
Cartwright hesitated. He had not expected so charming a diversion, and really there was no reason why he should not accept the invitation. He was not due at Bromley until early in the morning, and the girl was young and pretty and a friend of his employer. It was she who hailed the taxi and they drove to a select little restaurant at the back of Shaftesbury Avenue.
You're not seeing Pinto--I mean Mr. Silva--again to-night, are you? she asked.
No, I'm not seeing him until--well, until I see him, he smiled again.
Well, I want to tell you something.
He thought she was charmingly embarrassed, and in truth she was, to invent the story she had to tell.
You know why Mr. Silva is leaving England in such a hurry?
He nodded. She wished she knew too, or had the slightest inkling of the yarn which Pinto had spun. And then the man enlightened her.
Political, he said.
Exactly; political, she said easily. "But you will realise that it is not necessarily he himself who is making this flight."
I did understand that he was making the flight himself, said the aviator in surprise.
But--she was desperate now--"has he never told you of the other gentleman who was coming, the other political person who really must go to Portugal at once?"
No, he certainly did not, said Cartwright; "he told me distinctly that he was going himself."
The girl leaned back in her chair, baffled, but thoughtful.
Oh, of course, he told you that, she said with a knowing smile. "You see, there are some things he is not allowed to tell you. But do not be surprised if you have two passengers instead of one."
I shan't be surprised, I shall be pleased. The machine will carry half a dozen, said Cartwright readily, "but I certainly thought----"
Wait till you see him, said the girl, waving a warning finger with mock solemnity.
He found her a cheerful companion through the meal, but there were certain intervals of abstraction in her cheerfulness, intervals when she was thinking very rapidly and reconstructing the plan which Pinto had made. So he was one of the rats who were deserting the sinking ship and leaving the Colonel and Crewe to face the music. And Crewe--that was the thought uppermost in her mind.
When she parted from the pilot she had only one thought--to warn the colonel of Pinto's treachery--and Crewe. And somehow Crewe seemed to bulk most importantly at that moment.
What should she do? It was her sense of loyalty which brought the colonel first to her mind. She must warn him. She went into a Tube station telephone box and rang through but received no answer. Her quest for Crewe had as little result. She drove off to the flat, thinking that possibly the telephone might be out of order or that they would have returned by the time she reached there, but there was no answer to her ring. She went out again into the street in despair and walked slowly towards Regent Street. Then she saw two people ahead of her, and recognised the swing of the colonel's shoulders. She broke into a run and overtook them. The colonel swung round as she uttered his name and peered at her.
Lollie! he said in surprise, and he looked past her as though seeking some police shadow.
I have something important to tell you, she said. "Let us go up here."
They turned into a deserted side street, and rapidly she told her story.
So Pinto's getting out, is he? said the colonel thoughtfully. "Well, it is no more than I expected. An aeroplane, too? Well, that's enterprising. I thought of something of the sort, but there's nowhere I could go, except to America."
He dropped his head on to his chest and was considering something.
Thank you, Lollie, he said simply. "I'm glad that you didn't go with Selby--you would never have got to the Continent alive."
He said this in an ordinary conversational tone, and the girl gasped. She did not ask him for an explanation and he offered none. Crewe, standing in the background, looked at the man with something like bewilderment.
And now I think you'd better make a real getaway, and not trust to the police, said the colonel. "Maybe with the best intentions in the world, Stafford King can't save you if I happen to be jugged. And you too, Crewe," he turned to the other.
So Pinto is going, eh? he bit his nether lip, "and that is why he promised to bring the fifty thousand to-morrow morning. Well, somehow I don't think Pinto will go," he spoke deliberately. "I don't think Pinto will go."
It is too dangerous for you to stop him---- began Crewe.
I shall not try to stop him, said the other; "there's somebody besides myself on Pinto's track, and that somebody is going to pull him down."
But why don't you escape, colonel? she urged. "There is the aeroplane waiting at Bromley. We could easily persuade the man that Pinto had sent us."
He shook his head.
You take your own advice, he said, "and clear out to-night. Get her away, Crewe. Don't worry about the police. You've got twenty-four hours in hand. This is Pinto's night," he said between his teeth. "Pinto--the dirty hound!"
Slowly they paced the street together in silence. When they came to the end the colonel turned.
I want to shake hands with you, Lollie. I shook hands with you once before, intending to send you to a very quick decease. You're carrying your money with you, aren't you, Crewe?
Yes, said the other.
Good! responded the colonel. "Now get away."
He took no other farewell but turned abruptly and left them. Crewe was following him, but the girl caught his arm.
Don't go, she said in a low voice. "Don't you know the colonel better?"
I hate leaving him like this, he said.
So do I, said the girl quietly. "I've still got some decent feeling left. We're all in this together. We're all crooks, as bad as we can possibly be, and if he's used us we've been willing tools. What is your Christian name?" she asked.
He looked at her in surprise.
Jack, he said. "What a weird question to ask!"
Isn't it? she said with a laugh but a little catch in her throat. "Only we're to be comrades and stick to one another, and I hate calling you by your surname, so I'm going to call you Jack."
It was his turn to be amused. They walked in the opposite direction to that which the colonel had taken.
You're very quiet, she said after a while.
Aren't I? he laughed.
Have I offended you? she asked quickly. "Was it wrong to call you Jack? Oh, yes, somebody else must have called you Jack."
No, no, it isn't that, he said, "but I haven't been called by my Christian name for years and years," he said wearily, "and somehow it seems to span all the bad times and take me back to the--the----"
The 'Jack' days? she suggested, and he nodded.
Then after another period of silence.
This is a queer ending to it all, isn't it? he said, and her heart skipped a beat.
Ending? she whispered. "No, no, not ending! It may be the beginning of a new life. I haven't got religious," she added quickly, "and I'm not getting sentimental. All my past life doesn't come up in front of me as it does in the story-books. Only I've just faith that there's something better in life than I've ever found."
I should think there is, said Crewe. "It couldn't be much worse, could it?"
I haven't been bad, she said--"not bad like you probably think I have."
I never thought you were bad, he said. "You were just a victim like the rest of them. You were only a kid when you started working for the colonel, weren't you?"
She nodded.
Well, there's a chance for you, Lollie. Your passage is booked and all that sort of thing--have you sufficient money?
I've plenty of money, she said.
Fine! He dropped his hand lightly on her shoulder. "There's a big, big chance for you, my girl."
And for you? she asked.
He laughed.
There is no chance for me at all, he said simply. "They'll take me and they'll take Pinto and last of all they'll take the colonel. It is written," he added philosophically. "Why--why, what is the matter?"
She stood stock-still and was holding on to his arm with both hands.
You mustn't say that, you mustn't say that! she said brokenly. "It isn't finished for you, Jack. There's a chance to get out, and the colonel has told you there's a chance. He meant it. He knows much more than we do. If you've got murder on your soul, or something worse; if you feel that you're altogether so bad that there isn't a chance for you, that there's no goodness in your life which can be expanded, why, just wait and take what's coming. But for God's sake know your mind, and if you feel that in another land, with--with someone who loves you by your side----"
Her voice broke.
Why, Lollie, he said very gently. "You don't mean----?"
I'm just as shameless as I've ever been she said, "but I'm not proposing to marry you, I'm not asking for anything save your friendship and your comradeship. I think people can love one another without--marrying and all that sort of thing; but do you--will you----"
Will I go? he asked.
She nodded.
I'll go anywhere with that prospect in sight, and he slipped his arm round her shoulders, and, bending, kissed her on the cheek.
Whilst Pinto was putting the finishing touches to his scheme of flight, the colonel paced his room, whistling the "Soldiers' Chorus" jerkily. He was restless and nervous, and rendered all the more irritable by the disappearance of his servant, a minor member of the gang, who had been a participant in every act of villainy, and who had been in charge of the arrangements for the abduction of Maisie White. Twice in the course of the evening he wandered through the hall, opened the outer door, and looked out on to the landing.
On the first occasion there was nothing to see, but on the second it was only by the narrowest margin of time that he failed to detect a dark figure moving noiselessly up the stairs and disappearing on to the second landing. The man above heard the door open and close again, and stood watching. Then, when no sound reached him, he moved to the door of Pinto's flat, opened it, deposited the suit-case which he was carrying in the hall, and closed the door softly behind him.
He was within for about a quarter of an hour, then he reappeared, and still carrying his suit-case, passed swiftly down the stairs and out into the street. The clock struck half-past nine as he disappeared, and a quarter of an hour later Stafford King received by special messenger a communication which gave him something to think about. He read it through twice, then called up the First Commissioner and gave him the gist of the communication.
That's the third time we've had this sort of message, he said.
The others have proved right, said the Commissioner's voice, "why shouldn't this?"
But it seems incredible, said Stafford in perplexity. "We've been watching these people for years and we've never found them with the goods."
I should certainly act on it, King, if I were you, said the Commissioner. "Let me know what happens. Of course, you may make a mistake, but you must take a chance on that."
Pinto had a lot of business to do at the theatre that night. For a week he had not banked the theatre's takings, but had converted them into paper money, and now he took from his safe the last penny he could carry. It was half-past eleven when he came to his Club, where supper had been prepared for him. He paid the bill from notes he had taken from the bank that day. Presently the waiter came back.
I beg your pardon, sir, but the cashier says that this note is a wrong 'un.
A wrong 'un? said Pinto in surprise, and took it in his hand.
There was no doubt whatever that the man was right. It was the most obvious forgery he had ever handled.
Then I've been sold, he smiled; "here's another."
He took the second note and examined it. That also was bad, as he could tell at a glance. In the tail pocket of his dress-coat he had the money he had taken from the theatre and was able to settle the bill. He was worried on the journey back to the flat. He had drawn a hundred pounds from the bank that morning in five-pound notes. He remembered putting them into his pocket-book and had no occasion to disturb them since. It was unlikely that the bank would have given him such obvious forgeries. He was stepping from the taxi when the awful truth dawned on him. The notes had been planted, the forgeries substituted for the good paper! He was putting his hand in his pocket, intending to take out the money and push it down the nearest drain, when he was gripped.
Sorry and all that, said a voice.
He turned round shaking like an aspen.
Stafford King, he said dully.
Stafford King it is. I have a warrant for your arrest, Silva, on a charge of forging and uttering. Bring him up to his rooms.
The colonel heard the noise on the stairs and came to the door. He stood, a silent spectator, watching with unmoved face the procession as it passed up to the floor above.
I want your key, said Stafford, and humbly the Portuguese handed it to him.
Stafford opened the door and snapped on the light.
Bring him in, he said to the detective who held Pinto. "What room is this?"
My dining-room, said Pinto faintly.
Stafford entered the room, turning on the light as he did so.
Hullo, Pinto, he said.
Pinto could only look.
The table was littered with copper-plates and ink rollers. There was a thick pad of counterfeit money on one corner of the table, held down by a paper weight; little bottles of acids were scattered about, and near the table was a small lever press, so small that a man might carry it in a corner of his handbag.
I think I have got you, Pinto, said Stafford King, and Pinto Silva nodded before he fell limply into the arms of his captor.
* * * * *
Maisie White had gone to bed early and the bell rang three times before she awoke. She slipped into a dressing-gown, and, going to the window, leaned out. She looked down upon the upturned face of a girl and in spite of the distance and the darkness of the night, recognised her. The man who stood in the background, however, she could not for the moment place. Nevertheless, she did not hesitate to go downstairs.
Is that Miss White? asked the girl.
Yes. It is Lollie Marsh, isn't it? Won't you come in?
Lollie was hesitant.
Yes, she said after awhile and they went upstairs together. "I'm very sorry I disturbed you, Miss White, but it is a matter which can't very well wait. You know that Mr. Stafford King has been kind to me?"
Maisie nodded. She was looking at the girl with interest and was surprised to note how pretty she was. She could not forget what Lollie Marsh had done for her that dreadful night at the nursing home, and if the truth be told, she had inspired the assistance which Stafford had been giving the girl.
Mr. King has booked my passage to America, as you probably know, Lollie went on, "but at the last moment I have been obliged to change my plans."
I'm sorry to hear that, said the girl. "I was hoping that you'd get away before----"
I am hoping to get away before, Lollie smiled faintly. "But you see, one has to be very quick, because things are moving at such a rapid rate. They arrested Pinto to-night--we only just heard of it."
Arrested Silva? said the girl in surprise. "That is news to me. What is the charge?"
I didn't quite understand what the charge was. I know he's arrested, said Lollie. "The colonel has advised me to get out as quickly as I can. And there's a big chance for me, Miss White. I'm going to be married!"
She blurted the words out, and Maisie stared at her. Somehow she had never thought of Lollie Marsh as a person who would get married, and it was amazing to see the confusion and shyness in which her confession had thrown her.
I congratulate you with all my heart, said Maisie. "Who is the fortunate man?"
I can't tell you. Yes, I will, said the girl. "I'll trust you. I'm marrying Jack Crewe."
Crewe? I remember. Mr. King spoke about him. But isn't he one of the--isn't he a friend of the colonel?
Lollie nodded.
Yes, but we're going away to-night. That is why I came to see you.
Maisie White clasped the girl's hands in hers.
You yourself are facing a great happiness and a beautiful life, pleaded Lollie, her eyes filling with tears. "Can't you feel some sympathy with me? For I want love and happiness and security more even than you, because you have never known anything of the dreadful apprehensions and uncertainties such as I have passed through. And I want you to help me in this. I'm not going to ask you to influence Mr. King to do anything but his duty. But I want just a chance for Jack."
Maisie shook her head.
I don't know that I can promise that, she said. "Mr. King has always spoken of your friend as one of the least dangerous of the gang. When are you leaving?"
To-night.
To-night? But how?
That's a secret.
But it is a secret I won't reveal, smiled Maisie.
By aeroplane, said Lollie after a moment's hesitation, and told the story of Pinto's preparation.
You'd better not tell me where you're going, warned Maisie, but she didn't stop Lollie in time. "Well, I wish you luck and I'll do my best for you." She stopped and kissed the girl.
There's one warning I want to give you, Miss White, said Lollie as she stood in the doorway. "The colonel is a desperate man and I don't think somehow that he's coming through this with his life. He's been a good friend of mine up to a point and according to his lights, but you've been good and Mr. King has been more than good. Beware of the colonel now that you have him at bay! That is all!"
Then she was gone.
They brought Pinto Silva into the magistrate's court at Bow Street the following morning in a condition of collapse. The man was dazed by his misfortune, incapable of answering the questions which were put to him, or even of instructing the exasperated solicitor who had been with him for an hour.
By the solicitor's side was a grey-faced, shrunken man, whose clothes did not seem to fit him and who at the end of the proceedings whispered something into the lawyer's ear. But the application which was made for bail was rejected. The evidence was too damning, and the knowledge that the prisoner was not English and that it would be impossible to extradite him if he managed to make his escape to certain countries, all helped to influence the magistrate in his refusal.
Colonel Boundary did not speak to the man in the dock or as much as look at him. He got out of court after the proceedings had terminated, the cynosure of every policeman's eye, and drove back to his apartments. He had not heard from Crewe or Lollie that morning and he guessed that the two had left by aeroplane. So he was alone, he thought, and the very knowledge had the effect of stiffening him.
He could go through the remainder of his papers at his leisure, without fear of interruption. The lesser members of the gang had been controlled by Selby or Crewe, and they would not approach him directly, but he did not doubt that there were a score of little men waiting to jump into the witness box the moment he was caught, but he had by no means given up hope of escaping.
For days he had carried in his pocket the means of disguise, a safety razor, scissors and a small bottle of anatto solution to darken his face.
Despite his sixty-one years, he was a healthy and virile man, capable of undergoing hardships if the necessity arose, but, above all, he had a plan and an alternative plan.
He finished the destruction of his correspondence, and then began to search his pocket for any stray letters which he might have put away absent-mindedly. In making this search he came upon a long, white envelope addressed to Crewe, and wondered how it had come into his possession. Then he remembered that Crewe had handed him a letter.
He looked at the postmark.
From Oxford.
This was the report of the agents whom Crewe had sent down to discover the names of the men who had left Balliol in a certain year. "Snow" Gregory, who had been found shot in the streets of London, was a Balliol man who had left Oxford in that year. It was certain that it was a relative of "Snow" Gregory who was called Jack o' Judgment and who had taken upon himself the task of avenging the man's death.
What was "Snow" Gregory's real name? If he could find that, he might find Jack o' Judgment.
Slowly, as though with a sense that the great discovery was imminent, he tore open the letter and pulled out the three foolscap pages, which, with a covering note, constituted the contents. There were two lists of names of graduates who had passed out in the year which, if "Snow" Gregory spoke the truth in a moment of unusual confidence, was the year of his leaving.
The colonel's finger traced the lines one by one and he finished the first list without discovering a name which was familiar. He was half way through the second list when he stopped and his finger jumped. For fully three minutes he sat glaring at the paper open-mouthed. Then:
Merciful God! he whispered.
He sat there for the greater part of an hour, his chin on his hand, his eyes glued to the name. And all the time his active mind was running back through the years, piecing together the evidence which enabled him to identify, without any shadow of doubt, Jack o' Judgment.
He rose and went to his bookcase and took down volume after volume. They were mostly reference books, and for some time he searched in vain. Then he found a Year Book which gave him the data he wanted, and he brought it back to the table and scribbled a few notes. These he read through and carefully burnt.
He finished his labours with a bright look in his eye and strutted into his bedroom ten years younger in appearance than he had been that afternoon. He put out all the lights and sat for a little while in the shadow of the curtain, watching the street from the open window. At the corner of the block a Salvation Army meeting was in progress, and he was surprised that he had not noticed the fact, although this practice of the Salvationists holding meetings near his flat had before now driven him to utter distraction.
Very keenly he scrutinised the street for some sign of a lurking figure, and once saw a man walk past under the light of a street lamp and melt into the shadow of a doorway on the opposite side of the road. He went into his bedroom and brought back a pair of night glasses, and focused them upon the figure.
He chuckled and went out of the flat into the street, turning southward.
He did not go far, however, before he stopped and looked back, and his patience was rewarded by the sight of a figure crossing the road and entering the building he had just left. The colonel gave him time, and then retraced his steps. He took off his boots in the vestibule and went upstairs quietly. He was half-way up when he heard the soft thud of his own door closing, and grinned again. He gave the intruder time to get inside before he too inserted his key, and turning it without a sound, came into the darkened hall. There was a light in his room, and he heard the sound of a drawer being pulled open. Then he gripped the handle, and, flinging the door open, stepped in. The man who was looking through the desk sprang up in affright.
As Boundary had suspected, it was his former butler, the man who had deserted him the day before without a word. He was a big, heavy-jowled man of powerful build, and the momentary look of fright melted to a leer at the sight of the colonel's face.
Well, Tom, said Boundary pleasantly, "come back for the pickings?"
Something like that, guv'nor, said the other. "You don't blame me?"
I've been pretty good to you, Tom, said the colonel.
Ugh! I don't know that I've anything to thank you for.
Here was a man who a month before would have cringed at the colonel's upraised finger!
Oh, don't you, Tom? said Boundary softly. "Come, come, that's not very grateful."
What have I got to be grateful to you for? demanded the man.
Grateful that you're alive, Tom, said the colonel, and the servant's face went hard.
None of that, colonel, he snarled; "you can't afford to talk 'fresh' with me. I know a great deal more about you than you suppose. You think I've got no brains."
I know you have brains, Tom, said the colonel, "but you can't use 'em."
Can't I, eh? I haven't been looking after you for four or five years and doing your dirty work, colonel, without picking up a little intelligence--and a little information! You'd look comic if they put me in the witness box!
He was gaining courage at the very mildness of the man of whom he once stood in terror.
So you've come for the pickings? said the colonel, ignoring his threat. "Well, help yourself."
He went to the sideboard, poured himself out a little whisky and sat down by the window to watch the man search. Tom pulled open another drawer and closed it again.
Now look here, colonel, he said, "I haven't made so much money out of this business as you have. Things are pretty bad with me, and I think the least you can do is to give me something to remember you by."
The colonel did not answer. Apparently his thoughts were wandering.
Tom, he said after awhile, "do you remember three months ago I bought a lot of old cinema films?"
Yes, I remember, said the man, surprised at the change of subject. "What's that to do with it?"
There were about ten boxes, weren't there?
A dozen, more likely, said the man impatiently. "Now look here, colonel----"
Wait a moment, Tom. I'll discuss your share when you've given me a little help. Meeting you here--by the way, I saw you out of the window, skulking on the other side of the street--has given me an idea. Where did you put those films?
The man grinned.
Are you starting a cinema, colonel?
Something like that, replied Boundary; "it was the Salvation Army that gave me the idea really. Do you hear what an infernal noise that drum makes?"
The man made a gesture of impatience.
What is it you want? he asked. "If you want the films, I put them in my pantry, underneath the silver cupboard. I suppose, now that the partnership's broken up, you don't object to me taking the silver? I might be starting a little house on my own."
Certainly, certainly, you can take the silver, said the colonel genially. "Bring me the films."
The man was half-way out of the room when he turned round.
No tricks, mind you, he said, "no doing funny business when my back's turned."
I shall not move from the chair, Tom. You don't seem to trust me.
The ex-valet made two journeys before he deposited a dozen shallow tin boxes on the desk.
There they are, he said, "now tell me what's the game."
First of all, said the colonel, "were you serious when you suggested that you knew something about me that would be worth a lot to the police? There goes that drum again, Tom. Do you know what use that drum is to me?"
I don't know, growled the man. "Of course I meant what I said--and what's this stuff about the drum?"
Why, the people in the street can hear nothing when that's going, said the colonel softly.
He put his hand in the inside of his coat, as though searching for a pocket-book, and so quick was he that the man, leaning over the table, did not see the weapon that killed him. Three times the colonel fired and the man slid in an inert heap to the ground.
Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, Tom, said the colonel, replacing the weapon; and turning the body over, he took the scarf-pin from his own tie and fastened it in that of the dead man. Then he took his watch and chain from his pocket and slipped it in the waistcoat of the other. He had a signet ring on his little finger and this he transferred to the finger of the limp figure.
Then he began opening the boxes of old films and twined their contents about the floor, pinning them to the curtains, twining them about the legs of the chairs, all the time whistling the "Soldiers' Chorus." He found a candle in the butler's pantry and planted it with a steady hand in the heap of celluloid coils. This he lighted with great care and went out, closing the door softly behind him. Half an hour later, Albemarle Place was blocked with fire engines and a dozen hoses were playing in vain upon the roaring furnace behind the gutted walls of Colonel Dan Boundary's residence.
* * * * *
Stafford King was an early caller at Doughty Street, and Maisie knew, both by the unusual hour of the visit and by the gravity of the visitor, that something extraordinary had happened.
Well, Maisie, he said, "there's the end of the Boundary Gang--the colonel is dead."
Dead? she said, open-eyed.
We don't know what happened, but the theory is that he shot himself and set light to the house. The body was found in the ruins, and I was able to identify some of the jewellery--you remember the police had it when he was arrested, and we kept a special note of it for future reference.
She heaved a long sigh.
That's over, at last; it is the end of a nightmare, she said, "a horrible, horrible nightmare. I wonder----"
What do you wonder?
I wonder if this is also the end of Jack o' Judgment? she asked. "Or whether he will continue working to bring to justice those people whom the law cannot touch."
Heaven only knows, said Stafford, "but I'll admit that Jack o' Judgment has been a most useful person so far as we are concerned. We should never have collected Pinto or Selby, or even the colonel, but for Jack. By the way, there is no news of Crewe and the girl."
I suppose they've reached their destination by now? she asked.
Oh, rather, said Stafford; "hours and days ago. Where were they going, by the way?"
She shook her head.
I'm not going to tell you that.
You needn't, smiled Stafford. "They've gone to Portugal. It was Pinto's machine and I don't suppose he had any other idea in the world than to get back to his own beloved land. By the way, Pinto looks like getting ten years. To satisfy myself in regard to Crewe, I telegraphed to an Englishman at Finisterre, who is a good friend of mine and who lives in a wild and isolated spot somewhere near the lighthouse, and he sent me back a message to the effect that an aeroplane passed over Finisterre yesterday afternoon soon after lunch time. That must be friend Lollie."
She nodded.
Do you know, I hope they get away. Is that rather dreadful of me? she said.
He shook his head.
No, I don't think so. I believe the chief shares your hope. He has queer views on things, and they irritate me sometimes. For example, he doesn't think that the colonel is dead.
But I thought you had found the body?
He gets over that by saying that it isn't the body, said Stafford with a little laugh of annoyance. "It rather worries you after you have decided that you've rounded up the gang. I still believe that it is the colonel."
She thought a moment.
I am inclined to agree with Sir Stanley, said she. "It isn't the sort of thing that the colonel would do. Men like Colonel Boundary are never without hope."
Stafford scratched his head.
Well, if it isn't the colonel, he's gone; and please the pigs, we'll never see him again! There is only the question of rounding up the little people of the gang, and that won't be much trouble.
She put both her hands on his shoulders and looked at him smilingly.
You're an optimist, dear, she said.
Who wouldn't be? he replied cheerfully. "You said that when the gang was wound up we would drop our sad and lonely lives apart and form a little gang of our own."
She laughed and kissed him, and he went back to his office to find that his chief had already arrived and had asked for him. Sir Stanley was reading the morning paper when Stafford came into his room, and his first words brought consternation to the younger man.
Stafford, he said, "this is not the body of the colonel. I've just been to see it and I'm certain. Now, you've got to send a call out to all stations throughout the country, particularly the south of England, to look for a man, possibly clean-shaven, certainly without moustaches, who will be disguised as a tramp."
Why a tramp, sir? asked Stafford with an heroic attempt to preserve an open mind on a subject where he had reached a definite decision.
Fifteen years ago, replied Sir Stanley, "when the colonel did most of his own dirty work, it was his favourite disguise. Search the casual wards, the common lodging-houses and the prisons. It is just likely that the colonel will commit a small offence, with the object of getting himself three months in gaol--there's no hiding-place like gaol, you know, Stafford. The real danger is that he may not actually tramp or assume the guise of the real low-down loafer. He may have the sense to become a poor but honest workman, travelling third-class from town to town in search of work. Then he will present the greatest difficulty." He saw the look of doubt on the young man's face and laughed.
You think he's dead, don't you? he said.
I'm perfectly sure he is, sir, replied Stafford frankly.
An optimist to the last, smiled Sir Stanley and dismissed him with a nod.
Later he was to come to Stafford's little bureau and tell him things which he did not know before. Then for the first time Stafford King discovered how closely his lackadaisical chief had followed the developments of the past few months. He learnt for the first time of the big part which Jack o' Judgment had played in the detection of the gang.
He had an office under the colonel's flat, said Sir Stanley. "Apparently it was bought with no other object than to provide our friend with an opportunity of spying on the colonel. He discoloured the wall, brought in his own workmen and in the colonel's absence--he was driven from the occupation of the room by the smell--he installed microphones. With the aid of these he was able to listen to all the conversation downstairs and sometimes to chime in. It was Jack o' Judgment who--well, perhaps I'd better not tell you that, because officially, I am not supposed to know it. At any rate, Stafford," he said more seriously, "we have seen the smashing of one of the most iniquitous, villainous gangs that ever existed. God knows how many broken hearts there are in England to-day, how many poor souls who have been brought to a suicide's grave through the machinations of Colonel Boundary and his tools. I do not think there has been a more immoral force in existence in our time, and I hope we shall never see its like again. You sent out the message?" he asked at parting.
Yes, sir. I warned all stations and all chief constables.
Good! said Sir Stanley, and his last words were: "Don't forget--Boundary is not dead!"
A stoutish, grey-haired man descended from a third-class carriage at Chatham Station and inquired of a porter the way to the dockyard. He carried a lot of carpenter's tools in a straw bag and smoked a short clay pipe. The porter looked at the man with his white, stubby beard critically.
Trying to get a job, mate? he asked.
Why, yes, said the man.
How old might you be? demanded the porter.
Sixty-four, said the other, and the porter shook his head.
You won't get work easy. They're not very keen on us old 'uns, he said. "Why don't you try at Markham's, the builders in the High Street? They're short of men. I saw a notice outside their yard only this morning."
The workman thanked the porter, shouldered his basket and tramped down the High Street. He was respectably dressed, and policemen on the look-out for suspicious tramps did not give him a second glance. He spent the greater part of the day walking from yard to yard, everywhere receiving the same answer. Late in the afternoon he had better luck. A small firm of ship repairers were in want of a jobbing carpenter and put him to work at once.
It was many years since Colonel Boundary had wielded a saw, but he made a good showing. After two hours' work, however, his back was aching and his hands were sore. He was glad when the yard bell announced the hour for knocking off. He had yet to find lodgings, but this did not worry him. He was careful to avoid the cheaper kind of lodging-house, and went to one which catered for the artisan, where he could get a room of his own and a clean bed. He paid a deposit, washed himself and left his tools, then went out in search of some refreshment.
At seven o'clock the next morning he was back at the yard. He thought several times during the day that he would have to throw the work up. His back ached furiously, his arms were like lead. But he persevered, and again another day drew to a close. By the third day he had got his muscles into play and found the work easy. He was asked by the foreman if he would care to go into the country to work at a house that the head of the firm was building, but he declined. He wanted to remain in the town where there were crowds. At the end of the week came his great chance. He had been sent down to the docks to do some repairs on a small steamer and had pleased the skipper, who was himself an elderly man, by the ability he had shown.
You're worth twice as much as some of these darned young 'uns, grumbled the old man. "Are you married?"
No, said the other.
Got any kids?
Boundary shook his head.
Why don't you sign on with me? asked the skipper. "I want a carpenter bad."
Where are you going? asked Boundary, breathing more quickly.
We're going to Valparaiso first, then we're going to work down the coast, round the Horn to San Francisco and maybe we'll get a cargo across to China.
I'll think it over, said the colonel.
That night he called on the captain and told him that he had made up his mind to go.
Good! said the skipper, "but you'll have to sign on to-night. I'm leaving to-morrow by the first tide."
The colonel nodded, not daring to speak. Here was luck, the greatest in the world. Nobody would suspect a carpenter, taken from a local firm and shipped with the captain's goodwill. At seven o'clock the next morning he was standing on the deck of the _Arabelle Sands_, watching the low coast-line slipping past. The ship was to make one call at Falmouth and two days later she reached that port. Boundary went ashore to buy some wood and a few tools that he found he needed, and pulled back to the ship in the afternoon. In the evening he accompanied the captain ashore.
We shan't leave till to-morrow at twelve, said the captain. "You might as well spend a night on solid earth whilst you can. It will be a long time before you smell dirt again."
The captain's idea of a pleasant evening was to sit in the bar-parlour of the Sun Inn and drink interminable hot rums. He had fixed up a room for himself at the inn and offered Boundary a share, but the colonel preferred to sleep alone. He secured lodgings in the town, and making an excuse to the captain returned to his room early. He had purchased all the newspapers he could find and he wanted to study them quietly. It was with unusual relish that he read the account of an inquest on himself. There was no breath of suspicion that he was not dead.
Old Dan Boundary has tricked them all. Clever old Dan Boundary!
He chuckled at the thought. He had deceived all those clever men at Scotland Yard--Sir Stanley Belcom, Stafford King, Jack o' Judgment! Yes, he had deceived Jack o' Judgment and that seemed the least believable part of the affair. All the rest of the gang were captured or fugitives. He wondered whether Lollie Marsh and Crewe had reached Portugal and what they were doing there and how long their money would last and how they would earn more. He had his own money well secured. He had managed to get together quite a respectable sum, for there were other banks than the Victoria and City--odd accounts in assumed names which he had drawn upon on the very day of his supposed death.
There was a tap at the door.
Come in, said Boundary, thinking it was the landlady.
He was in the middle of the room as he spoke, and he went back step by step as the visitor entered. His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, his eyes were starting out of his head.
You! You! he croaked.
Little Jack o' Judgment, said the mask mockingly. "Poor old Jack! Come to take farewell of the colonel before he goes to foreign parts!"
Stop! cried Boundary hoarsely. "I know you, damn you! I know you!"
He pulled back the curtains and glared out of the window. There was no need to ask any further questions. The house was surrounded. He swung round again at his tormentor and faced the white mask in a blind fury of rage.
You're clever, aren't you? he said. "Cleverer than all the police! But you weren't clever enough to save your son from death!"
The masked figure reeled back.
Ah, that's got you! Little Jack o' Judgment! mocked the colonel. "That's got you where it hurts you most, hasn't it? Your only son, too! And he went to the devil all the faster because of me--me--me!" He struck his breast with his clenched fist. "You can't bring him back to life, can you? That's one I've got against you."
No, said Jack o' Judgment in a low voice. "I cannot bring him back to life, but I can destroy the man who destroyed him, who blighted his young life, who taught him vicious practices, who sapped his vitality with drugs----"
That's a lie! said the colonel. "Crewe picked him up at Monte Carlo, when he was on his beam-ends."
Who sent him to Monte Carlo? asked the other. "Who was the gambler who brought him down, and received the wreck he had made with the pretence that he had never met him before? It was you, Boundary?"
The colonel nodded.
I was a fool to deny it. I pretended to Crewe that I hadn't met him before. Yes, it was I, and I glory in it. You think you're going to pinch me, now, and put me where I belong--on the scaffold maybe. But you can never wipe that memory out of your mind, that you had a son who died in the gutter, that you're a childless old man who has no son to follow you!
I can't wipe that out! said Jack o' Judgment. "O, God! I can't wipe that out!"
He raised his hand to his masked face as though to hide the picture which Boundary conjured up.
But I can wipe you out, he said fiercely, "and I've given my life, my career, my reputation, all that I hold dear to get you! I've smashed your schemes, I've ruined you, even if I've ruined myself. They're waiting for you downstairs, Boundary. I told them to be here at this very minute. Stafford King----"
You'll never see me taken, said Boundary.
Two shots rang out together, and the colonel sprawled back over the bed--dead.
Propped against the wall was Jack o' Judgment, and the hand that gripped his breast dripped red. They heard the shots outside and Stafford King was the first to enter the room. One glance at the colonel was sufficient, and then he turned to the figure who had slipped to the floor and was sitting with his back propped against the wall.
Good God! said Stafford. "Jack o' Judgment!"
Poor old Jack! said the mocking voice.
Stafford's arm was about his shoulder, and he laid the head gently back upon his bent knee. He lifted the mask gently and the light of the oil lamp which swung from the ceiling fell upon the white face.
Sir Stanley Belcom! Sir Stanley! he softly whispered.
Sir Stanley turned his head and opened his eyes. The old look of good-humour shone.
Poor old Jack o' Judgment! he mimicked. "This is going to be a first-class scandal, Stafford. For the sake of the service you ought to hush it up."
But nobody need know, sir, said Stafford. "You can explain to the Home Secretary----"
Sir Stanley shook his head.
I'm going to see a greater Home Secretary than ever lived in Whitehall, he said slowly. "I'm finished, Stafford. Strip this mummery from me, if you can."
With shaking hands Stafford King tore off the black cloak and flung it under the bed.
Now, said Sir Stanley weakly, "you can introduce me to the provincial police as the head of our department and you can keep my secret, Stafford--if you will."
Stafford laid his hand upon Sir Stanley's.
I told my solicitor, Sir Stanley spoke with difficulty, "to give you a letter in case--in case anything happened. I know I haven't played the game by the department. I ought to have resigned years ago when I found what had happened to my poor boy. I was Chief of Police in one of the provinces of India at the time, but they wouldn't let me go. I came to Scotland Yard and was promoted--no, I haven't played the game with the department. And yet perhaps I have."
He did not speak for some time.
His breathing was growing fainter and fainter, and when Stafford asked him, he said he was in no pain.
I had to deceive you, he said after awhile. "I had to pretend that Jack o' Judgment called on me too. That was to take suspicion from your--Miss White," he smiled. "No, I haven't played the game. I stood for the law, and yet--I broke that gang, which the law could not touch. Yes, I broke them! I broke them!" he whispered. "If Boundary hadn't known me I should have been gone before you came and resigned to-morrow," he said, "but he must have discovered the boy's name. I wonder he hadn't tried before. I smashed them, didn't I, Stafford? It cost me thousands. I have committed almost every kind of crime--I burgled the diamondsmiths', but you must give me your word you will never tell. Phillopolis must suffer. They must all be punished."
Stafford had sent the police from the room, but the police-surgeon would not be denied. He had the sense to see that nothing could be done for the dying man, however, and that a change of position would probably hasten the end. He, too, went and left them alone.
Stafford, I have quite a lot of money, said the First Commissioner; "it is yours. There's a will ... yours...."
Then he ceased to speak and Stafford thought that the end had come but did not dare move in case he were mistaken. After five minutes the man in his arms stirred slightly and his voice sounded strangely clear and strong.
Gregory, my boy, good old Gregory! Father's here, old man!
His voice died away to a rumble and then to a murmur.
The tears were running down Stafford's face. He sensed all the tragedy, all the loneliness of this man who had offered so cheerful a face to the world. Then Sir Stanley struggled to draw himself to his feet, and Stafford held him.
Gently, sir, gently, he said, "you're only hurting yourself."
The dying man laughed. It was a little shrill chuckle of merriment and Stafford's blood ran cold.
Here I am, poor old Jack o' Judgment! Little old Jack o' Judgment! Give me the lives you took and the hopes you've blasted. Give them to Jack ... Jack o' Judgment!
They were his last words.
A year later First Commissioner Sir Stafford King received a letter from South America. It contained nothing but the photograph of a very good-looking man, and a singularly pretty woman, who held in her lap a very tiny baby.
Here is the last of the Boundary Gang, said Sir Stafford to Maisie. "It is the one happy ending that has emerged from so much misery and evil."
Why, it is Lollie Marsh!
Lollie Crewe, I think her name is now, said Stafford. "It was queer how Sir Stanley recognised the only human members of the gang."
Then they got away after all? said the girl. "I've often wondered what happened at that aerodrome."
Stafford laughed.
Oh, yes, he said drily, "they got away. They left at twenty minutes past three, after a long argument with the aviator, a man named Cartwright."
How do you know? she asked.
Sir Stanley and I watched them go off, said Stafford.
He looked at the photograph again and shook his head.
There were times when the Judgment of Jack was very merciful, he said soberly.
The End