Tish Marches On (6 page)

“Bandits!” said Tish. “Actual bandits?”

“I’ll tell the world!” she said. “They’ll steal, rob, and probably murder to get what they’re after. They’ll—oh, what’s the use,” she finished drearily. “I’m going home to bed. Not that it’s much of a home. I’m sleeping in a bathtub at the moment. And thanks for the lift, which isn’t a bad pun at this hour of the night.”

It was when she was leaving that I saw her glance at that wretched newspaper picture of us, and I thought she looked startled. But she went away without comment, and Tish voiced our general feeling about her.

“It is very sad,” she said, “that one so young should consort with any gang. But I believe such men often have a fatal attraction for the other sex. To have locked her in that elevator was sheer brutality.”

She was thoughtful, saying little after that; and it was not until three
A.M.
that Aggie roused me from a sound sleep to report that she was not in her room. What is more, only her bathrobe and slippers were missing, and when it became apparent that our dear Tish was somewhere in the cold London night, unclothed and possibly in danger, our state of mind was quite dreadful.

It was almost dawn when at last we heard a commotion in the bathroom, and discovered her climbing in the window from the fire escape. She closed the window, shivered slightly, and then confronted us.

“That girl was right,” she said grimly. “Those men above
are
bandits. I have no doubt whatever that they intend to secure the crown jewels; if indeed they have not already done so.”

She said nothing more until we had made her a cup of tea. Iron woman as she is, she had passed through a dreadful ordeal, and it was some time before she had quite recovered.

“There can be no doubt whatever,” she then explained. “The place is littered with cases containing machine guns, and the ammunition is in round tins in a closet. I had to sit on it. Not only that,” she added: “the raid is to be made at the Coronation itself. And the Master Mind is in America!”

Well, it was a long story, although a terrible one. She had been unable to sleep, and had gone up the fire escape to inspect the rooms above by looking through a window. The gang being out, she had climbed in, to make the discoveries I have mentioned. But here misfortune overtook her. They came back before she could escape, and she had been forced to find refuge in a closet!

It was due to this that she heard the cable message, however. The one the others called Jim Carlisle read it aloud to the rest.

“Listen to this, gang,” he said. “It’s from New York. From the boss.”

And then he read the most bloodcurdling message I have ever heard. It said:

BE SURE NO MISTAKE ABOUT LOCATIONS. ESPECIALLY WANT JEWELS AND DECORATIONS. BETTER NOT SHOOT UNTIL YOU CAN SEE THE WHITES OF THEIR EYES.

We were too horrified for speech. Tish finished her tea and put down her cup.

“There is but one thing to do,” she said, “dangerous as it may be I feel that we have no alternative. We must go to Scotland Yard at once.”

Aggie immediately protested, but Tish was firm. And I think it should be said in our defense that we did so that same morning. Nothing was printed in the London press to this effect. Indeed, nothing in our defense was ever printed at all, and as it turned out the risk was entirely useless. The Commissioner who saw us—I think that was his title—seemed to be very busy, and on Tish stating her errand, he merely raised his eyebrows and addressed a large man who was standing by.

“You might get me the plot file, Jewkes,” he said.

And when Jewkes had gone he turned to Tish.

“We have a number of plots just now,” he said. “The natural anxiety of a loyal people to protect—er—the royal jewels and so on. About two thousand, I fancy.” He then took a large file from Mr. Jewkes, and examined it. “Yes,” he went on, “one thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight. Good guess, that; eh, Jewkes?”

“Very good, sir,” said Mr. Jewkes.

I could see that Tish was annoyed.

“These people have machine guns and ammunition,” she said rather sharply. “If that interests you.”

“It does indeed. Excellent weapons; eh, Jewkes? First time we’ve had machine guns reported, I believe. Let’s see. Yes. Bombs, grenades, rifles, and I believe a brick or two. But—”

Here Tish rose with dignity.

“Would you be interested—even faintly—in knowing the headquarters of this gang?” she demanded.

“Oh, rather,” he said. “We haven’t much to do just now; have we, Jewkes? There are only about fifteen million people in town, but we’ll take the address. Naturally. Put it down, Jewkes.”

And it was after this had been done that we had a very narrow escape. A man opened the door and said:

“The American about the dirigible, sir.”

“Show him into the other room,” said the Commissioner resignedly, “and get the dirigible file. What does he expect me to do about his blooming balloon anyhow? Blow it up for him?”

It was Mr. Smith!

F
ORTUNATELY HE DID NOT
see us, although I must say that I was nervous when we reached the street. Tish, however, was calm. As is usual when she is revolving some course in her mind, outside and petty irritations meant nothing to her.

“It is evident,” she said at last, “that we can expect no help from the police. Whatever is done we must do ourselves.”

“Do what?” I inquired. “This gang has done nothing as yet.”

“We must prevent their doing anything, Lizzie,” she said quietly.

And this, I think, should be borne in mind as I record the events that followed. Scotland Yard had failed us and, except for the subsequent involvement of Inspector Jewkes, did nothing whatever; and Tish’s idea all along was that an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

Curiously enough, the Carlisle man was at the porter’s desk when we went back, and he did not resemble a gangster at all. He was tall and quite good-looking, and he was asking if anybody had found a young lady in the elevator the night before.

“What young lady was that, sir?”

“Did you see her?” the Carlisle man demanded, looking angry.

“No, sir. There was a young lady went out, I don’t know just when. Seemed kind of upset about something. Slammed the door like to break the glass out of it.”

“What time was that?” he inquired.

“About three hours after you left, sir.”

Well, I thought he was going to leap over the desk at the porter, and Aggie gasped beside me. But he controlled himself.

“And where were you, all that time?” he said, in a cold rage. And added: “Did it ever occur to you that someday one of us might take you for a ride and just lose you by the wayside?”

Yes, he said that. Mild and handsome as he looked, we all three knew the awful gangster threat in his words. But the porter merely smiled.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said.

We were all considerably unnerved when we reached our flat. Surprised also, for when we opened the door Bettina Pell was in the sitting room.

She was lying on the couch smoking a cigarette, and she sat up and grinned at us.

“Sorry!” she said. “If you’d spent the night in a bathtub you’d understand.”

She then got up and looked us all over carefully, and to my dismay I saw that she had that wretched newspaper picture in her hand.

“What a break!” she said, as though to herself. “Oh, what a break!” Then she said briskly. “All right. Let’s sit down and you tell mamma all about it.”

“About what?” Tish inquired.

“You know,” she said. “All about the
Snark
and the flannel petticoat, and trying to kill the constable, and the man you hung on the church steeple. You haven’t told anybody else, have you?” she asked anxiously.

I can remember that Aggie gave a low moan, and that that wretched girl actually got out a notebook and pencil and sat smiling at us. As Tish said later, she was certainly dangerous, loaded with information as she was, and ready to explode if pointed in the wrong direction. It was a deadly situation: on the one hand, Mr. Smith and our probable arrest; on the other, a dastardly plot, so shocking that we needed our freedom to foil it.

But I had forgotten our resolute Tish, so quick to think in times of danger. She had taken off her hat, and now she sat down and picked up her knitting.

“The
Snark
?” she inquired, “What on earth is the
Snark
?”

Bettina stared at her.

“It won’t do, Miss Carberry,” she said coolly. “If that is your attitude—”

“It is my attitude at the moment,” Tish replied with firmness. “I may, I just possibly may, alter it later. That, however, depends upon you.”

The girl seemed surprised. She put down her pencil and sat back.

“All right,” she said, “I get you. Let’s have it.”

Well, I watched Bettina Pell while Tish told in detail of her discoveries the night before, and if ever I saw a girl thunderstruck it was she. At one time—I believe when Tish told her of the cable—she even burst into hysterical laughter. But at the end she was calm enough.

“Let’s get this straight,” she said. “They haven’t done anything, so that’s out. But they’re going to do something, so that’s in. The general idea being—”

“The general idea,” said Tish, putting down her knitting, “is to put them beyond trouble until all is over and the crown jewels and so on are safe once more. A good cellar, or a dungeon in fair repair, would answer.”

But here, I regret to state, Bettina became hysterical again.

“In a—in a dungeon!” she gasped. “Down in a dungeon deep! I wish I could see their faces when it happens. And where is the dungeon? Don’t tell me you haven’t got a dungeon.”

“As a matter of fact I have,” said Tish astonishingly. “At least it was there many years ago, and I dare say it still is.”

Bettina stared at her, almost with awe.

“It must be true,” she said. “I’m awake. I’m not dreaming. And she has a dungeon. You—you couldn’t give me a cup of tea, could you? I feel rather gone.”

The rest of her visit was occupied with details. We needed her assistance, Tish said, and in return for it she was to have the full story of our adventures on the
Snark
, not to be used, of course, until we were safely out of England and on the way home. Bettina agreed to all this, and was in high spirits as she prepared to depart.

“You get the dungeon,” she said gaily. “And I’ll do the rest.”

“How will you do it?” Tish inquired.

“That is my secret,” she said, and refused any further explanation.

She went away soon after, and apparently the hysteria returned, for on looking out the window I saw her standing on the pavement wiping her eyes, and several passers-by glanced at her curiously.

I can write calmly of her now, but there was a time when I could not mention her name. Pretty and young, she deliberately used us as the agents of a petty revenge; and almost destroyed Charlie Sands in so doing. But perhaps we should have known. I still remember how she flushed when Tish asked if her affections were engaged with any member of the gang.

“Affections!” she said. “Listen. When I think of what they did to me last night I make Vesuvius look like a ripe boil. But don’t you worry about me,” she added. “I’ll get even with Jim Carlisle if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

Yes, perhaps we should have known.

T
HAT WAS ON THE
Saturday preceding the Coronation. Tish had rented a car and spent the afternoon locating the castle she had remembered; while Aggie and I remained at home, keeping a keen eye on the stairs and elevator. Thus we saw diverse members of the gang at intervals, and both of us were impressed with their youth and cheerfulness, in spite of their bloodthirsty business.

Indeed, they whistled both coming and going, although the Carlisle man seemed rather depressed. Once or twice he rang a telephone number and asked for Bettina—as we now called her—but with no success, and we distinctly heard him kick a chair after one such failure.

Then late that afternoon we saw Inspector Jewkes go up to their flat, and waited with bated breath for possible trouble. All that happened, however, was that after ten minutes or so a boy carried up beer on a tray, and there was considerable laughter to be heard when the door was opened.

But it was when he departed that the horrifying thing occurred. He stood in the hall just over our heads, and we both heard him clearly as he said good-bye.

“Well, all right, boys,” he said. “And remember, don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.”

He was laughing as he passed our door!

We told Tish when she returned, but she merely shrugged her shoulders. She had located the dungeon, only twenty miles from London, and said that one extra—such as the Inspector—would make no difference whatever.

“It is quite large,” she said, “also dry and sanitary. And the caretaker is entirely deaf.”

In other words, she said, we could hold the entire band of criminals there safe until the danger was past. But she also added that blankets and food should be provided; and in this connection a strange thing happened to us that very night. We had done our buying, and were returning with our arms piled high, when that wretched lift stuck again with all of us inside. The hall porter was gone as usual, and for some hours we could do nothing but wait.

It was the bandits who rescued us!

They came in singing noisily at two
A.M.
, and after pressing the button started to walk up the stairs. As these wound around the wire enclosure that housed the elevator, we were plainly visible, and the one we knew as Jim Carlisle stopped and stared.

“Hello!” he said. “What’s happened?”

Aggie gave a low moan of terror, but Tish preserved her equanimity.

“We are quite all right,” she said. “Please go on and leave us alone.”

“See here,” he said, looking surprised. “You don’t mean that you like it there?”

The rest had all stopped, and it was an eerie feeling, surrounded as we were by them and entirely helpless. But there was nothing to be done. The Carlisle man turned to the others and said: “Well, fellows, how about it?” and in a short time we were released once more.