Elk 01 The Fellowship of the Frog (26 page)

Left alone, Balder poured himself a drink and apparently rang for one of the servants. The man who came in arrested Dick’s attention instantly. He wore the conventional uniform of a footman, the dark trousers and the striped waistcoat, but it was easy to see, from the way he moved, that he was not an ordinary type of servant. A big man, powerfully built, his every action was slow and curiously deliberate. Balder said something to him, and the footman nodded, and, taking up the tray, went out with the same leisurely, almost pompous, step that had distinguished his entry.

And then it flashed upon Dick, and he whispered into the detective’s ear one word.

“Blind!”

Elk nodded. Again the door opened, and this time three footmen came in, carrying a heavy-looking table with a canvas cover. At first Gordon thought that it was Balder’s meal that was being brought, but he was soon to discover the truth. Above the fireplace, hanging on a single wire, was a large electric lamp, which was not alight. Standing on a chair, one of the footmen took out the lamp and inserted a plug from the end of which ran a wire connecting with the table.

“They’re all blind,” said Elk in a whisper. “And that is Balder’s own broadcasting apparatus, and the aerial is attached to the lamp.”

The three servants went out, and, rising, Balder walked to the door and locked it.

There were another set of windows in the room, looking out upon the side of the house, and one by one Balder closed and shuttered them. He was busy with the second of the three, when Elk put his foot upon a ledge of brick, and, tearing aside the curtain, leapt into the room.

At the sound, Balder spun round.

“Evening, Balder,” said Elk.

The man made no reply. He stood, watching his sometime chief, with eyes that did not waver.

“Thought I’d come along and tell you that you’ve got your promotion,” said Elk, “as Acting-Sergeant from the 1st of May, in recognition of the services you’ve rendered to the State by poisoning Frog Mills, loosing Frog Hagn, and blowing up my office with a bomb that you planted overnight.”

Still the man did not speak, nor did he move; and here he was discreet, for the long-barrelled Browning in Elk’s hand covered the lower button of his white pique waistcoat.

“And now,” said Elk—there was a ring of triumph in his voice—“you’ll take a little walk with me—I want you,
Number Seven!
”

“Haven’t you made a mistake?” drawled Balder, so unlike his usual voice that Elk was for a moment taken aback.

“I never have made a mistake except about the date when Henry the Eighth married,” said Elk.

“Who do you imagine I am?” asked this debonair man of the world.

“I’ve ceased imagining anything about you, Balder—I know!”

Elk walked with a quick movement toward him and thrust the muzzle of the pistol in his prisoner’s diaphragm.

“Put up your hands and turn round,” he said.

Balder obeyed. Slipping a pair of handcuffs from his pocket, Elk snapped them on to the wrists. Deftly the detective strapped the arms from behind, drawing them tight, so that the manacled hands had no play.

“This is very uncomfortable,” said Balder. “Is it usual for you to make mistakes of this character, Mr. Elk? My name is Collett-Banson.”

“Your name is Mud,” said Elk, “but I’m willing to listen to anything you like to say. I’d rather have your views on cyanide of potassium than anything. You can sit down.”

Dick saw a gleam come to the man’s eye; it flashed for a second and was gone. Evidently Elk saw it too.

“Don’t let your hopes rest upon any monkey tricks that might be played by your attendants,” he said, “because fifty C.I.D. men, most of whom are known personally to you, are disposed round this house.”

Balder laughed.

“If they were round the house and on top of the house, they wouldn’t worry me,” he said. “I tell you, inspector, you’ve made a very grave error, and one which will cost you dear. If a gentleman cannot sit in his own drawing-room,”—he glanced at the table—“listening to a wireless concert at The Hague without interfering policemen—then it is about time the police force was disbanded.”

He walked across to the fireplace carelessly and stood with his back to it; then, lifting his foot, he kicked back one of the steel fire-dogs which stood on either side of the wide hearth, and the “dog” fell over on its side. It was a nervous act of a man who was greatly worried and was not quite conscious of what be was doing. Even Elk, who was all suspicion, saw nothing to excite his apprehension.

“Yon think my name is Balder, do you?” the man went on. “Well, all I can say is—”

Suddenly he flung himself sideways on to the hearthrug, but Elk was quicker. As an oblong slip of the floor gave way beneath the man’s weight, Elk gripped him by the collar and together they dragged him back to the room.

In a second the three were struggling on the floor together, and in his desperation Balder’s strength was unbelievable. His roaring cry for help was heard. There came a heavy blow on the door, the babble of angry voices without, and then, from the ground outside, a series of sharp explosions, as the army of detectives raced across the lawn, oblivious to the presence of the alarm-guns.

The fight was short and sharp. The six blind men who comprised the household of No. 7 were hustled away, and in the last car travelled Acting-Sergeant Balder, that redoubtable No. 7, who was the right hand and the left hand of the terrible Frog.

Dick Gordon ended his interview with Mr. Ezra Maitland at three o’clock in the morning, and went to Headquarters, to find the charge-room at Cannon Row singularly empty. When he had left, it was impossible to get in or out for the crowd of detectives which filled or surrounded the place.

“On the whole, Pentonville is safest, and I’ve got him there. I asked the Governor to put him in the condemned cell, but it is not etiquette. Anyway, Pentonville is the safest spot I know, and I think that, unless Frogs eat stones, he’ll stay. What has Maitland got to say, Captain?”

“Maitland’s story, so far as one can get a story from him, is that he went to see Balder by invitation. ‘When you’re sent for by the police, what can you do?’ he asked, and the question is unanswerable.”

“There is no doubt at all,” said Elk, “that Maitland knew Balder’s character, and it was not in his capacity as policeman that the old man visited him. There is less doubt that this man is hand in glove with the Frog, but it is going to be very difficult to prove.”

“Maitland puzzles me,” said Dick. “He’s such a bully, and yet such a frightened old man. I thought he was going to drop through the floor when I told him who I was, and why I had come. And when I mentioned the fact that Balder had been arrested, he almost collapsed.”

“That line has to be followed,” said Elk thoughtfully. “I have sent for Johnson. He ought to be here by now. Johnson must know something about the old man’s business, and he will be a very valuable witness if we can connect the two.”

The philosopher arrived half-an-hour later, having been aroused from his sleep to learn that his presence was required at Headquarters.

“Mr. Elk will tell you something which will be public property in a day or two,” said Gordon. “Balder has been arrested in connection with the explosion which occurred in Mr. Elk’s office.”

It was necessary to explain to Johnson exactly who Balder was, and Dick went on to tell him of the old man’s visit to Slough. Johnson shook his head.

“I didn’t know that Maitland had a friend of that name,” he said. “Balder? What other name had he?”

“He called himself Collet-Banson,” said Dick, and a look of understanding came to the face of Johnson.

“I know that name very well. Mr. Banson used frequently to call at the office, generally late in the evenings—Maitland spends three nights a week working after the clerks have gone, as I know to my cost,” he said. “A rather tall, good looking fellow of about forty?”

“Yes, that is the man.”

“He has a house near Windsor. I have never been there, but I know because I have posted letters to him.”

“What sort of business did Collett-Banson have with Maitland?”

“I’ve never been able to discover. I always thought of him as a man who had property to sell, for that was the only type of outsider who was ever admitted to Maitland’s presence. I remember that he had the child staying with him for about a week—”

“That is, the child in Maitland’s house?”

Johnson nodded.

“You don’t know what association there is between the child and these two men?”

“No, sir, except that I am certain that Mr. Collett-Banson had the little boy with him, because I sent toys—mechanical engines or something of the sort—by Mr. Maitland’s directions. It was the day that Mr. Maitland made his will, about eighteen months ago. I remember the day particularly for a peculiar reason. I had expected Mr. Maitland to ask me to witness the will and was piqued, for no cause, because he brought two clerks up from the office to sign. These little things impress themselves upon one,” he added.

“Was the will made in favour of the child?”

Johnson shook his head.

“I haven’t the slightest knowledge of how the property goes,” he said. “He never discussed the matter with me; he wouldn’t even employ a lawyer. In fact, I don’t remember his ever employing a lawyer all the time I was with him, except for conveyancing work. He told me he had copied the form of will from a book, but beyond feeling hurt that I, an old and faithful servant of his, hadn’t been taken a little into his confidence, I wasn’t greatly interested in the matter. But I do remember that that morning I went down to a store and bought a whole lot of toys, had them packed and brought them back to the office. The old man played with them all the afternoon!”

Early in the morning Dick Gordon interviewed the prisoners at Pentonville, and found them in a very obstinate mood.

“I know nothing about babies or children; and if Johnson says he sent toys, he is lying,” said Balder defiantly. “I refuse to make any statement about Maitland or my association with Maitland. I am the victim of police persecution, and I defy you to bring any proof that I have committed a single act in my life—unless it is a crime to live like a gentleman—for which you can imprison me.”

“Have you any message for your wife and children?” asked Dick sarcastically, and the sullen features of the man relaxed for a second.

“No, Elk will look after them,” he said humorously.

The most stringent precautions had been taken to prevent a rescue, and the greatest care was exercised that no communication passed between No. 7 and the outside world. He was charged at Bow Street an hour before the court usually sat. Evidence of arrest was taken, and he was remanded, being removed to Pentonville in a motor-van under armed guard.

On the third night of his imprisonment, romance came into the life of the second chief warder of Pentonville Prison. He was comparatively young and single, not without good looks, and lived, with his widowed mother, at Shepherd’s Bush. It was his practice to return home after his day’s duty by omnibus, and he was alighting on this day when a lady, who had got off before him, stumbled and fell. Instantly he was by her side, and had lifted her to her feet. She was young and astonishingly pretty and he helped her gain the pavement.

“It was nothing,” she said smilingly, but with a grimace of pain. “It was very foolish of me to come by ‘bus; I was visiting an old servant of mine who is ill. Will you call me a taxi, please?”

“Certainly, madam,” said the gallant chief warder.

The taxi which was passing was beckoned to the kerb. The girl looked round helplessly.

“I wish I could see somebody I know. I don’t want to go home alone; I’m so afraid of fainting.”

“If you would not object to my escort,” said the man, with all the warm-hearted earnestness which the sight of a woman in distress awakens in the bosom of impressionable man, “I will see you home.”

She shot a glance at him which was full of gratitude and accepted his escort, murmuring her regret for the trouble she was giving him.

It was a beautiful apartment she occupied. The chief warder thought he had never met so gracious and beautiful a lady before, so appropriately housed, and he was right. He would have attended to her injury, but she felt so much better, and her maid was coming in soon, and would he have a whisky-and-soda, and would he please smoke? She indicated where the cigarettes were to be found, and for an hour the chief warder spoke about himself, and had an enjoyable evening.

“I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. Bron,” she said at parting. “I feel I’ve wasted your evening.

“I can assure you,” said Mr. Bron earnestly, “that if this is a waste of time, then time has no use!”

She laughed.

“That is a pretty speech,” she said, “and I will let you call to-morrow and see me.”

He took a careful note of the address; it was an exclusive maisonette in Bloomsbury Square; and the next evening found him ringing the bell, but this time he was not in uniform.

He left at ten o’clock, an ecstatic man who held his head high and dreamt golden dreams, for the fragrance of her charm (as he wrote her) “permeated his very being.” Ten minutes after he had gone, the girl came out, closed the door behind her and went out into the street, and the idler who had been promenading the pavement threw away his cigar.

“Good evening, Miss Bassano,” he said.

She drew herself up.

“I am afraid you have made a mistake,” she said stiffly.

“Not at all. You’re Miss Bassano, and my only excuse for addressing you is that I am a neighbour of yours.”

She looked more closely at him.

“Oh, Mr. Broad!” she said in a more gracious tone. “I’ve been visiting a friend of mine who is rather ill.”