Mystery Mile (21 page)

The voice was unmistakably Campion's, and at the same time a flying chair crashed against the curtained window. A tinkle of glass sounded in the street below.

Giles felt someone brush past him. He stretched out his hand and touched a silk sleeve. He seized it with an exclamation.

Lugg's voice growled at him softly under the tumult.

‘You come on quick. I've got 'er.'

The overpowering smoke had now suffused the landing and the floors above and below. The natural instinct of the gangsters was to get downstairs, as the quickest means of access to
the street. The raiding party, on the other hand, made for the roof. Under the cover of the confusion escape was comparatively easy.

In the boxroom Giles and Lugg found Mr Knapp as they came struggling up with Biddy.

‘I was waitin' for you,' he said, with an attempt at his old cheerfulness. ‘I ain't 'arf 'ad a sock on the 'ead. That was Bertie down there, Lugg.'

‘Shut up, and get the girl out on the roof.' Mr Lugg was in no mood for conversation. His face was glistening with sweat, and his eyes were shifty with apprehension.

Giles looked round him dizzily. ‘Where's Marlowe?' he said weakly. ‘We must get him out I'll go down again.' He turned to the door unsteadily, but on the last word his voice trailed off and he sank down on the boards.

‘Now there's two of 'em.' Mr Lugg's tone had returned to normal. ‘First of all, lock this 'ere door. The others must look after theirselves. We'll clear this lot away. Stop 'im bleedin', if you can. We don't want a trail be'ind us.'

Knapp sniffed. ‘Gawd! wot a picnic,' he commented. ‘Come on, then – up we go.'

Meanwhile, downstairs chaos continued. The smoke had made the first room uninhabitable, and the darkness which persisted all over the house was made thicker and more impenetrable by the fumes.

Terrified men had broken windows and burst open doors in the hope of diffusing the suffocating clouds. No one understood in the least what had happened.

Marlowe, staggering along the upper landing, cannoned into a man who was standing by the open window. He started back.

‘Wait for the wagon,' said a voice softly out of the darkness. ‘Wait for the wagon and we'll all take a ride.'

‘Campion!' Before the word was out of his mouth a hand was placed over his lips. All around them in the smoke there were scufflings and any amount of profanity. Retreat was impossible. The whole house seemed to be in a turmoil. Added
to the seven men who had been in the long room there were now reinforcements from below, coughing and shouting in the choking vapour.

‘Don't let 'em get away!' The shout was from downstairs.

‘We're cut off,' whispered Marlowe. ‘We shall suffocate.'

Campion kicked him softly, and at the same moment at the far end of the street below a fire bell's hysterical clangour echoed noisily.

‘Fire!' The cry seemed to rise up from all parts of the dignified street. Campion and Marlowe, gasping for air at the open window, saw the engines pull up, the brass helmets moving with magnificent swiftness.

‘Fire!' The cry was spreading to the house.

Campion touched Marlowe on the shoulder. ‘Emergency Exit,' he murmured, and swung lightly out on to the sill. Marlowe followed him more slowly. This new development was entirely unexpected.

Their appearance on the window-ledge caused a sensation among the crowd gathering in the street below. From outside, the fire appeared to be a very serious one. Great billows of smoke poured out of every window and ventilation grille. Mr Campion looked down at the yellow clouds with a certain pride. ‘Not bad for an amateur show,' he said. ‘I've often speculated on the chances of crossing the smoke bomb with the common stink variety. What an offspring! But I forget,' he went on with sudden seriousness. ‘Register “Fireman, save my child”; this is too much like “The Boy stood on the Burning Deck”. Put some pep into it. Quiver a bit; go quaggly about the knees, but for the love of Mike don't fall!'

He began to wave frantically, and the crowd below made reassuring signs. Just as the ladders were shifted into position there was a movement behind them. Campion swung round and caught the face that loomed out of the mists towards them with his rubber truncheon. The face did not reappear.

‘Look out,' said Marlowe, and leaned back as the top of a crimson ladder hovered in mid-air and came down within a foot of them.

‘Tell them the end is not yet,' said Campion. ‘Off we go.'

As they descended, the sound of crashing glass and woodwork floated up to them from below. The door and windows of the lower floors were apparently securely bolted, and the firemen were breaking in.

So great was the excitement at this incident that their arrival on the ground floor did not do much to increase it.

All the same, a small portion of the crowd pressed about them, and the fireman who collected them at the foot of the ladder inquired anxiously if there were others inside.

Mr Campion's reply set the hopes of a spectacle-loving public ablaze.

‘House crammed full,' he said seriously. ‘More smoke than fire, I imagine. It's a man's club, you know – a lot of retired military men – all sticking to their posts.'

‘You wasn't one of the brave ones,' said a miserable-looking little man in the crowd. ‘I don't blame you neither. Fool'ardy, I call it.'

Campion glanced back at the house. The hoses were pouring water into the darkened building, and firemen were already entering.

‘Hullo!' he shouted suddenly. ‘What's that they've got there? A corpse?'

Marlowe turned to look with the rest of the crowd which surged forward, but he felt himself firmly grasped by the upper arm and forced forward through the oncoming mass. The arrival of a couple of policemen pressing back the tide finally covered their escape.

As he reached the open street Campion's voice sounded in his ear.

‘Now, since we've rung the bell pretty effectively, old bird,' he murmured, ‘this, I think, is where we run away.'

THE SCENE IN
Mr Knapp's back room was not unlike a dressing station when Marlowe and Campion arrived.

Giles, still very white and shaky, was receiving experienced first aid at the capable hands of Mr Lugg, while Mr Knapp was examining a lump upon his head in an oak-framed mirror, whose usefulness was considerably lessened by the fact that the words ‘Bass's Bottled Ales' were printed across it in large letters.

Mrs Knapp was bending over Biddy, administering small quantities of rum in an egg-cup. Mr Barber alone remained where they had left him. The expression upon his face was inscrutable. He had evidently resigned himself to a situation which was completely beyond his comprehension.

Campion was frankly relieved to see them back. His entry was hilarious, and they all turned towards him with an eagerness which told of the anxiety they had felt at his prolonged absence.

Biddy rose to her feet and came towards them. ‘Oh, I'm so glad,' she said breathlessly. She took Campion's hand, but her real interest was plainly centred in Marlowe.

‘You're hurt!' she said, all her anxiety returning. He grimaced at her and smiled. ‘It looks worse than it is,' he said lightly.

With her help he wriggled out of his coat and displayed a nasty wound in the forearm. The others gathered round him.

‘I'll see to that,' said Lugg. ‘An' you lie down, miss. You don't look any too good. Now then, Pretty,' he went on, turning to Mr Knapp, ‘leave off titivating an' give us a 'and.'

‘Lay off,' said his friend bitterly. ‘I've got a lump 'ere as big
as a 'en's egg. Still,' he continued, brightening, ‘it was worth it. Not 'arf a bad show, it wasn't, Ma. You ought to 'ave been there.'

‘Blow me if I know wot 'appened,' said Mr Lugg conversationally as he applied a great swab to Marlowe's arm. ‘I nipped straight off with the girl as the Guv'nor told me.' He turned to Campion. ‘I wasn't 'arf glad to 'ear you when you come up. What 'appened to you an' this young spark 'ere?'

‘I'm afraid it was my fault,' said Marlowe. ‘I went back to scrag that damned man. I suppose you came after me, Campion?'

‘Not exactly,' said that young man modestly. ‘I couldn't help staying to see the fire engines. You've no idea what a torchlight tattoo there was after you other people left. Marlowe and I were received like royalty.'

‘Fire?' said Mr Knapp, looking up. ‘There wasn't no real fire, was there?'

‘Wasn't there, by heck?' said Giles. ‘I thought we were going to be suffocated.'

Marlowe grinned. ‘That was him,' he said, pointing at Campion.

‘I did it with my little smoke bomb,' said Campion proudly. ‘This room, begging your pardon, Knapp, was nothing to it.'

‘Wot beats me,' said Mr Knapp, ignoring the last remark, ‘is 'ow the bloomin' engines got there so quick.'

‘That,' said Campion again, ‘was me too. As soon as these young hopefuls got up their Charge of the Light Brigade, what did little Albert do? He nipped off.'

‘I know,' said Mr Knapp. ‘I seen you.'

‘Quite,' said Campion, putting on his spectacles once more and surveying the little man through them coldly. ‘And with your sordid mind, Thos, you doubtless conceived the idea that I had quitted. But no, you wronged me, Jasper Strange. I dropped through that open skylight in the next house which you found for me, and I picked up the telephone and I said, “I'm so sorry to trrrouble you, but I'm afraid there's a fire at Number Thirty-two. The building is well ablaze. Could you
send someone round to see to it?” The people at the other end seemed quite impressed and I came back. I dropped in just in time to see the two old contemptibles go into action. It occurred to me that there was too much light about the place, so I toddled downstairs to see about it. On the way I met old Gingerbeard. After a few short words of greeting I showed him my trick with the truncheon. He fell for it, and I went to do my electrical work. Then I ambled back doing my celebrated imitation of the British Police Force. The rest was quite simple,' he added, beaming upon them fatuously. ‘I dropped my little Kloos bomb. Up went the fire balloon. You showed the lady out, and Marlowe and I stayed for the washing up. Any questions?'

‘Albert, you're wonderful!' Biddy, standing with her arm tucked into Marlowe's, spoke admiringly. ‘You all are. If you knew how terrified I was – I –'

Campion placed a finger on his lips and glanced at the Knapps. Biddy comprehended, and turned the phrase off.

‘I was glad to see you,' she said. ‘I don't know yet where we are or how we got here.'

‘Seems to me,' said Mr Lugg, inspecting Giles, ‘that I shall 'ave to take this youngster off to old Doc Redfern. A spot o' stitchin' is wot 'e wants.'

Giles and Biddy exchanged glances, and Campion, guessing the question in their minds, spoke reassuringly. ‘The best man you could have,' he said. ‘He makes a specialty of this sort of thing.'

‘A good man?' 'E's a bloomin' marvel,' said Mr Lugg pugnaciously. ‘If it 'adn't been for Doc Redfern, I'd be walkin' you round at the flat. You come along, mate. 'E's a beauty about in four separate bits. I'll take 'im right off now. See specialist, that's wot 'e is.'

‘Perhaps,' said Mr Barber, rising at the first opportunity, ‘I had better give the rest of you a lift to Mr Campion's flat.'

He spoke so hopefully that Marlowe grinned. No one had taken much notice of him since their return, and it was almost with surprise that Campion turned to him.

‘That's a fine idea,' he said. ‘I'm afraid we've given you an
awful lot of trouble, Mr Barber, but you see, we've had a bit of trouble ourselves.'

The Oriental looked at him as if he thought he were an idiot, but he moved towards the door, and the others followed him.

Campion stayed behind to talk to Knapp. When he came downstairs at last, the others were already packed into the car. Giles and Lugg caught a taxi in Church Street.

‘Good night, all,' shouted Mr Knapp from the window.

As Mr Barber's car passed the top of Beverley Gardens the engines were still drawn up outside Number Thirty-two.

‘Still playing Snakes and Ladders, I see,' said Campion cheerfully. ‘I wonder what explanation they'll give the authorities. That ought to trouble Mr Datchett, I fancy.'

‘Datchett?' said Biddy quickly. ‘The fortune teller? Is that who it was?'

‘Mr Datchett it was,' said Campion grimly. ‘About the worst type imaginable – a blackmailer.'

‘Of course, our friend Thos is –' began Marlowe softly.

Mr Campion grimaced at him. ‘What do you want to bring that up for?' he said, and they drove on in silence.

By tacit consent no word was spoken of Biddy's adventure. Campion seemed to wish to keep the matter as much to themselves as possible.

It was about one o'clock when they reached the dark entrance beside the police station.

‘Thank you, no.' There was a note of complete finality in Mr Barber's reply when they asked him to come in. ‘You will forgive me, but I feel I should like a Turkish bath.' He hesitated, and looked at Biddy. ‘I had hoped to obtain your brother's consent to my handling the sale of his picture,' he said wistfully.

Biddy stared at him. Had she not been so exhausted she would have laughed. This sudden explanation of his presence in the midst of such an extraordinary adventure touched her sense of the absurd.

‘I think I can promise you that will be all right,' she said. ‘Thank you so much for all you've done for us.'

Mr Barber beamed. ‘I shall hold you to that promise,' he said. ‘You have no idea of the value, the exquisite state of preservation, the –'