Four Just Men (11 page)

He threw away the cigar he was smoking, and put his hand to the inside pocket of his coat to find another. He withdrew his hand without the cigar and whistled a passing cab.

Manfred looked at him in surprise.

"What is the matter? I thought you said you would walk?"

Nevertheless he entered the hansom and Poiccart followed, giving his direction through the trap, "Baker Street Station."

The cab was rattling through Shaftesbury Avenue before Poiccart gave an explanation.

"I have been robbed," he said, sinking his voice, "my watch has gone, but that does not matter; the pocketbook with the notes I made for the guidance of Thery has gone --and that matters a great deal."

"It may have been a common thief," said Manfred: "he took the watch."

Poiccart was feeling his pockets rapidly.

"Nothing else has gone," he said; "it may have been as you say, a pickpocket, who will be content with the watch and will drop the notebook down the nearest drain; but it may be a police agent."

"Was there anything in it to identify you?" asked Manfred, in a troubled tone.

"Nothing," was the prompt reply; "but unless the police are blind they would understand the calculations and the plans. It may not come to their hands at all, but if it does and the thief can recognise us we are in a fix."

The cab drew up at the down station at Baker Street, and the two men alighted.

"I shall go east," said Poiccart, "we will meet in the morning. By that time I shall have learnt whether the book has reached Scotland Yard. Goodnight."

And with no other farewell than this the two men parted.

If Billy Marks had not had a drop of drink he would have been perfectly satisfied with his night's work. Filled, however, with that false liquid confidence that leads so many good men astray, Billy thought it would be a sin to neglect the opportunities that the gods had shown him. The excitement engendered by the threats of the Four Just Men had brought all suburban London to Westminster, and on the Surrey side of the bridge Billy found hundreds of patient suburbanites waiting for conveyance to Streatham, Camberwell, Clapham, and Greenwich.

So, the night being comparatively young, Billy decided to work the trams.

He touched a purse from a stout old lady in black, a Waterbury watch from a gentleman in a top hat, a small hand mirror from a dainty bag, and decided to conclude his operations with the exploration of a superior young lady's pocket.

Billy's search was successful. A purse and a lace handkerchief rewarded him, and he made arrangements for a modest retirement. Then it was that a gentle voice breathed into his ear. "Hullo, Billy!"

He knew the voice, and felt momentarily unwell.

"Hullo, Mister Howard," he exclaimed with feigned joy; " 'ow are you, sir? Fancy meetin' you!"

"Where are you going, Billy?" asked the welcome Mr. Howard, taking Billy's arm affectionately.

" 'Ome," said the virtuous Billy.

"Home it is," said Mr. Howard, leading the unwilling Billy from the crowd; "home, sweet home, it is, Billy." He called another young man, with whom he seemed to be acquainted: "Go on that car, Porter, and see who has lost anything. If you can find anyone bring them along"; and the other young man obeyed.

"And now," said Mr. Howard, still holding Billy's arm affectionately, "tell me how the world has been using you."

"Look 'ere, Mr. Howard," said Billy earnestly, "what's the game? where are you takin' me?"

"The game is the old game," said Mr. Howard sadly --"the same old game, Bill, and I'm taking you to the same old sweet spot."

"You've made a mistake this time, guv'nor," cried Bill fiercely, and there was a slight clink.

"Permit me, Billy," said Mr Howard, stooping quickly and picking up the purse Billy had dropped.

At the police station the sergeant behind the charge desk pretended to be greatly overjoyed at Billy's arrival, and the gaoler, who put Billy into a steel-barred dock, and passed his hands through cunning pockets, greeted him as a friend.

"Gold watch, half a chain, gold, three purses, two handkerchiefs, and a red moroccer pocketbook," reported the gaoler.

The sergeant nodded approvingly.

"Quite a good day's work, William," he said.

"What shall I get this time?" inquired the prisoner, and Mr Howard, a plain-clothes officer engaged in filling in particulars of the charge, opined nine moons.

"Go on!" exclaimed Mr Billy Marks in consternation.

"Fact," said the sergeant; "you're a rogue and a vagabond, Billy, you're a petty larcenist, and you're for the sessions this time--Number Eight."

This latter was addressed to the gaoler, who bore Billy off to the cells protesting vigorously against a police force that could only tumble to poor blokes, and couldn't get a touch on sanguinary murderers like the Four Just Men.

"What do we pay rates and taxes for?" indignantly demanded Billy through the grating of his cell.

"Fat lot you'll ever pay, Billy," said the gaoler, putting the double lock on the door.

In the charge office Mr Howard and the sergeant were examining the stolen property, and three owners, discovered by PC Porter, were laying claim to their own.

"That disposes of all the articles except the gold watch and the pocketbook," said the sergeant after the claimants had gone, "gold watch, Elgin half-hunter N05029020, pocketbook containing no papers, no card, no address, and only three pages of writing. What this means I don't know." The sergeant handed the book to Howard. The page that puzzled the policeman contained simply a list of streets. Against each street was scrawled a cabalistic character.

"Looks like the diary of a paperchase," said Mr Howard. "What is on the other pages?" They turned the leaf. This was filled with figures.

"H'm," said the disappointed sergeant, and again turned overleaf. The contents of this page was understandable and readable although evidently written in a hurry as though it had been taken down at dictation.

"The chap who wrote this must have had a train to catch," said the facetious Mr Howard, pointing to the abbreviations:

Will not leave D.S., except for Hs. Will drive to Hs in M.C. (4 dummy brghms first), 8.30. At 2 600 p arve traf divtd Embank, 80 spls. inside D.S. One each rm, three each cor, six basmt, six rf. All drs wide opn allow each off see another, all spls will carry revr. Nobody except F and H to approach R. In Hse strange gal filled with spl, all press vouched for. 200 spl. in cor. If nee battalion guards at disposal.

The policeman read this over slowly.

"Now what the devil does that mean?" asked the sergeant helplessly.

It was at that precise moment that Constable Howard earned his promotion.

"Let me have that book for ten minutes," he said excitedly. The sergeant handed the book over with wondering stare.

"I think I can find an owner for this," said Howard, his hand trembling as he took the book, and ramming his hat on his head he ran out into the street.

He did not stop running until he reached the main road, and finding a cab he sprang in with a hurried order to the driver.

"Whitehall, and drive like blazes," he called, and in a few minutes he was explaining his errand to the inspector in charge of the cordon that guarded the entrance of Downing Street.

"Constable Howard, 946 L. reserve," he introduced himself. "I've a very important message for Superintendent Falmouth."

That officer, looking tired and beaten, listened to the policeman's story.

"It looks to me," went on Howard breathlessly, "as though this has something to do with your case, sir. D.S. is Downing Street, and----" He produced the book and Falmouth snatched at it.

He read a few words and then gave a triumphant cry.

"Our secret instructions," he cried, and catching the constable by the arm he drew him to the entrance hall.

"Is my car outside?" he asked, and in response to a whistle a car drew up. "Jump in, Howard," said the detective, and the car slipped into Whitehall.

"Who is the thief?" asked the senior.

"Billy Marks, sir," replied Howard; "you may not know him, but down at Lambeth he is a well-known character."

"Oh, yes," Falmouth hastened to correct, "I know Billy very well indeed--we'll see what he has to say."

The car drew up at the police station and the two men jumped out.

The sergeant rose to his feet as he recognised the famous Falmouth, and saluted.

"I want to see the prisoner Marks," said Falmouth shortly, and Billy, roused from his sleep, came blinking into the charge office.

"Now, Billy," said the detective, "I've got a few words to say to you."

"Why, it's Mr Falmouth," said the astonished Billy, and something like fear shaded his face. "I wasn't in that 'Oxton affair, s'help me."

"Make your mind easy, Billy; I don't want you for anything, and if you'll answer my questions truthfully, you may get off the present charge and get a reward into the bargain."

Billy was suspicious.

"I'm not going to give anybody away if that's what you mean," he said sullenly.

"Nor that either," said the detective impatiently. "I want to know where you found this pocketbook," and he held it up.

Billy grinned.

"Found it lyin' on the pavement," he lied.

"I want the truth," thundered Falmouth.

"Well," said Billy sulkily, "I pinched it."

"From whom?"

"I didn't stop to ask him his name," was the impudent reply.

The detective breathed deeply.

"Now, look here," he said, lowering his voice, "you've heard about the Four Just Men ?"

Billy nodded, opening his eyes in amazement at the question.

"Well," exclaimed Falmouth impressively, "the man to whom this pocketbook belongs is one of them."

"What! "cried Billy.

"For his capture there is a reward of a thousand pounds offered. If your description leads to his arrest that thousand is yours."

Marks stood paralysed at the thought.

"A thousand--a thousand?" he muttered in a dazed fashion, "and I might just as easily have caught him."

"Come, come!" cried the detective sharply, "you may catch him yet--tell us what he looked like."

Billy knitted his brows in thought.

"He looked like a gentleman," he said, trying to recall from the chaos of his mind a picture of his victim; "he had a white weskit, a white shirt, nice patent shoes----"

"But his face--his face!" demanded the detective.

"His face?" cried Billy indignantly, "how do I know what it looked like? I don't look a chap in the face when I'm pinching his watch, do I ?"

"You cursed dolt, you infernal fool!" stormed the detective, catching Billy by the collar and shaking him like a rat. "Do you mean to tell me that you had one of the Four Just Men in your hand, and did not even take the trouble to look at him?"

Billy wrenched himself free.

"You leave me alone!" he said defiantly. "How was I to know it was one of the Four Just Men, and how do you know it was?" he added with a cunning twist of his face. Billy's mind was beginning to work rapidly. He saw in this staggering statement of the detective a chance of making capital out of the position which to within a few minutes he had regarded as singularly unfortunate.

"I did get a bit of a glance at "em," he said, "they----"

"Them--they?" said the detective quickly. "How many were there ?"

"Never mind," said Billy sulkily. He felt the strength of his position.

"Billy," said the detective earnestly, "I mean business; if you know anything you've got to tell us!'

"Ho!" cried the prisoner in defiance. "Got to, 'ave I? Well, I know the lor as well as you--you can't make a chap speak if he don't want. You can't----"

The detective signalled the other police officers to retire, and when they were out of earshot he dropped his voice and said:

"Harry Moss came out last week."

Billy flushed and lowered his eyes.

"I don't know no Harry Moss," he muttered doggedly.

"Harry Moss came out last week," continued the detective shortly, "after doing three years for robbery with violence--three years and ten lashes."

"I don't know anything about it," said Marks in the same tone.

"He got clean away and the police had no clues," the detective went on remorselessly, "and they might not have caught him to this day, only--only 'from information received' they took him one night out of his bed in Leman Street."

Billy licked his dry lips, but did not speak.

"Harry Moss would like to know who he owes his three stretch to--and the ten. Men who've had the cat have a long memory, Billy."

"That's not playing the game, Mr. Falmouth," cried Billy thickly. "I--I was a bit hard up, an' Harry Moss wasn't a pal of mine--and the p'lice wanted to find out----"

"And the police want to find out now," said Falmouth.

Billy Marks made no reply for a moment.

"I'll tell you all there is to be told," he said at last, and cleared his throat. The detective stopped him.

"Not here," he said. Then turning to the officer in charge:

"Sergeant, you may release this man on bail--I will stand sponsor." The humorous side of this appealed to Billy at least, for he grinned sheepishly and recovered his former spirits.

"First time I've been bailed out by the p'lice," he remarked facetiously.

The motor-car bore the detective and his charge to Scotland Yard, and in Superintendent Falmouth's office Billy prepared to unburden himself.

"Before you begin," said the officer, "I want to warn you that you must be as brief as possible. Every minute is precious."

So Billy told his story. In spite of the warning there were embellishments, to which the detective was forced to listen impatiently.

At last the pickpocket reached the point.

"There was two of 'em, one a tall chap and one not so tall. I heard one say 'My dear George'--the little one said that, the one I took the ticker from and the pocketbook. Was there anything in the notebook?" Billy asked suddenly.

"Go on," said the detective.