THE DYNAMITARD'S ESCAPE
May-Day was at hand, and we had been working all night at the office of
the _Tocsin_ in order to have the paper ready in time to distribute to
the provincial groups. Since Friday morning I had hardly left the
office at all--merely going home for dinner and returning at once to the
fray--and by four o'clock Sunday morning we had rolled off the last of
the five thousand copies of the _Tocsin_, which, along with two thousand
leaflets drawn up by myself and Armitage, were ready for distribution.
The 1st of May fell on the following Wednesday, and we had for once the
satisfaction of knowing that we had taken Time by the forelock.
Short had retired to his shake-down in the dormitory about midnight, and
the loud creaking of his boots against the boards was the only sign
he gave of life. Kosinski, Armitage, and Giannoli, after making up and
addressing the last parcel, had left for their respective abodes; Beppe
and Meneghino, having turned the wheel the whole evening, had fallen to
sleep exhausted, stretched on a bench in the machine-room; and I, after
having partaken of a cup of tea and some hot buttered toast which old
M'Dermott had provided for me, sat nodding and dozing on one side of
the fire. The old cobbler had fallen fast asleep on the other side while
poring over a dictionary, noting down sonorous and impressive-sounding
words with which to embellish the oration he intended to deliver on
May-day in Hyde Park.
About half-past five, just as the first cold rays of the chilly spring
dawn cast a ghastly blue light on the dormant figures around me,
deadening the yellow flame of the lamp which was burning itself out,
I was roused from my torpor by a light rap at the outside door. In the
office all was quiet, but for the heavy and rhythmic snores of the weary
comrades, and wondering who could claim admittance at such an unearthly
hour, I rose with a shiver and opened the door. To my surprise I found
myself face to face with Bonafede.
Since that bitter January day when Bonafede and his companions had
emerged from the London fog and made their unexpected entrance on the
scene of the _Tocsin_, I had not seen very much of him, though we had
never quite lost sight of one another, and I frequently heard his news
through mutual friends. As I have already stated, Gnecco and Bonafede
had retired to lodgings in the Italian quarter in the unsavoury
neighbourhood of Saffron Hill. They had a little money, but only enough
to last for two or three weeks. Gnecco had a few valuables in the shape
of a gold watch and chain, a pearl breast-pin, and a fur-lined coat, and
he soon had recourse to my friendly help to dispose of these articles to
the best advantage with a pawnbroker, and on the proceeds, eked out by
some small help which he received from his family, he managed to rub
along, and he and his mandolin were soon familiar features at the
office. But with Bonafede the case was different. He was a man of too
active and independent a character to be long idle. He was by profession
an engineer, and in Italy, before his career had been interrupted by
his political activity, he had held an important post on the Italian
railways. But for many years his life had been a stirring one, and he
had learned to turn his hand to whatever offered, and had in turn worked
as a dock labourer, a sailor before the mast, a gilder employed
in church decorations, a house-decorator in a lunatic asylum and a
cutter-out of military trousers at Marseilles, a warehouse porter and
a navvy. Whatever job turned up he accepted; if it was work at which
he had no experience he would look up some comrade in that line and get
from him a few hints, and this, supplemented by reading up particulars
in some trade encyclopaedia at a public library, enabled him to
accomplish his task satisfactorily. He had hardly been in London
a fortnight when he looked about him for work, and, nothing better
offering, he engaged himself as washer-up at one of Veglio's many
restaurants. After six weeks he was rescued from the uncongenial
drudgery of scullion by a comrade, a fellow-Calabrian, who earned a
good living as decorator of West-end cafés, and who took on Bonafede to
assist him in frescoing a ceiling at the Trocadero, not, however, before
the latter had laid the foundations of a _lega di resistenza_ between
the Italians employed in restaurant kitchens. At the end of a month the
ceiling was painted, and Bonafede parted company with his compatriot,
pocketing £10, plus his keep whilst the job lasted. One of his first
steps was to visit me at the office of the _Tocsin_ and arrange for the
printing of an Italian pamphlet and of a booklet of revolutionary songs,
the production of Gnecco, which were to be smuggled into Italy for
distribution. The cost of paper and carriage of these works ran into the
better part of £3. With the remaining cash in his pocket, Bonafede went
to look up old friends and comrades in the French and Italian quarters.
A's wife was expecting her confinement, B needed an outfit in order to
enter on a job as waiter which he had secured at a club; C had been out
of work for three months and had five small mites to feed and clothe,
and so forth. At the end of this expedition rather less than 15s.
remained in his pocket, and once more he sought employment. This time
he got taken on by a contractor who asphalted the London streets, a
work done entirely by Italians. Here he remained for nearly two months,
during which time he organised the men into a union and induced them to
strike for better conditions. The men won their point, and returned to
work on the condition that the agitator who had got up the strike should
be dismissed, and Bonafede left of his own accord, unwilling to cause
loss to the men by prolonging the struggle. After a few weeks' enforced
idleness, during which he was lost sight of by the comrades, he
reappeared one evening at a group meeting held at our office, and
informed us that he was taken on as electrician at the Monico.
Ten days had now passed since I last saw him, and my expression was
eloquent of my amazement at his unexpected appearance.
"You are surprised at my coming at such an unusual hour, Comrade," he
began with his strong Calabrian accent; "but you will understand when
I tell you that ever since yesterday evening I have been awaiting an
opportunity to get round here without being followed by my guardian
angels of Scotland Yard. Gnecco told me that you were passing the night
in the office, and so I seized on a favourable moment and came." He
stopped, glanced round the room, walked up to the bench on which the
two Italians were sleeping the sleep of the just, and having satisfied
himself that no one could overhear us he explained the motive of his
visit to me.
"You doubtless know that Jean Matthieu, suspected of complicity in the
P.... bomb explosions, has been hiding in London for some time past."
I nodded assent: he had even been pointed out to me one evening by
Giannoli at a meeting in the East End.
"Well, since yesterday we have the certainty that the police are on his
track, that they are aware of his whereabouts. It has become absolutely
necessary for him to leave London without further delay--within the next
twenty-four hours. Everything is arranged. The police will be watching
the Continental trains, so he will go for the present to Leicester, and
stay with a comrade who has a French wife, and who will pass him off as
his wife's uncle. From there we hope, within a week or so to get him off
to America; but all this requires money: the least that we can give him
is twenty pounds. I had five by me, left with me to make use of for the
Cause, a few French comrades have handed me over another seven. But we
are still in need of eight pounds to make up the necessary sum. Could
you let us have it?"
The last days of the month always found me at the end of my resources.
I had but two pounds in my purse. "What a pity," I exclaimed, "that you
could not let me know yesterday! Today is Sunday; it will be impossible
for me to get at any money. Raymond is certain only to have a pound or
two on him, if he has as much; the Bank is closed. I have some jewellery
by me on which I could easily raise ten or twelve pounds, but the
pawn-shops are not open on Sundays. What am I to do? Can you not wait
until tomorrow?"
Bonafede explained that every minute was of consequence: Matthieu must
leave at once or he would inevitably be arrested. We both remained
silent, hesitating, for a few minutes. At last he spoke: "Madame
Combrisson has the money by her, I am sure, but she will never give it.
You say, however, you have some jewellery that you would be willing to
pledge: perhaps with that as security she would advance us the money.
Anyhow we can but try."
It was arranged that I should go home for my valuables and repair to the
house of the Combrissons, where, Bonafede informed me, Matthieu was at
that moment concealed.
"But do you think he is safe there?" I inquired.
"Oh yes, perfectly. Jules is a good comrade, and both he and his wife
have every reason to wish to remain on good terms with the Anarchists.
They know on which side their bread is buttered. I shall go now and you
will find me at the Combrissons'."
I knew the French couple well by reputation, though I had never yet
crossed their threshold. Combrisson had come over to England some twelve
years ago; he had been mixed up in the Anarchist propaganda, and
had seen fit to expatriate himself; it was rumoured that he had been
actively mixed up with a gang of coiners, amongst whom were several
Anarchists who thought it good warfare to make the hated bourgeois pay
for the propaganda by falsifying the currency. They had not been long in
London when they took a large house in Grafton Street, letting out
rooms to comrades. They also kept on the ground floor a small _depôt_ of
foreign revolutionary literature, and received for a consideration the
correspondence of the refugees. Combrisson, who worked as a carpenter
and joiner, had the reputation of being a good comrade, and always set
down to his wife's account all actions not strictly in accordance with
the principles of solidarity, such as turning out comrades who did not
pay their rent, refusing small loans and subscriptions, and such like.
By eight o'clock I was in Grafton Street. As I turned down the corner
which leads from the Tottenham Court Road, I became aware that I was
being followed. A young man with a sandy moustache, a celestial nose,
and fishy blue eyes, got up to look like a counter-jumper on a holiday,
whom I had long since learned to know as Detective Limpet, was walking
a few steps behind me on the other side of the road. I stopped at Number
9, my destination, and I saw Limpet likewise stop outside a public-house
which stood opposite, and exchange a few words with a hulking brute
leaning against the wall, characterised by a heavy jaw, lowering brows,
and a strong Irish brogue, in whom I recognised Detective O'Brien. They
both turned their eyes on me as I stood on the door-step pulling the
bell handle, and I saw a stupid grin overspread the countenance of the
Limpet.
The door was opened by a little maid-of-all-work who seemed doubtful
as to whether she should let me in or no, till a head adorned with
curl-papers appeared above the kitchen steps, calling out in a shrill
voice, "Jane, you fool, show the young lady in."
Next minute I was in the front kitchen, where Madame Combrisson, her
husband, and Bonafede awaited me.
The house was a good-sized, solidly-built one, originally intended for
a gentleman's residence, but fallen now on evil days. An odour of fried
onions and sawdust pervaded the establishment, for Madame Combrisson
boarded three or four of her lodgers, regaling them principally on
"_soupe à l'ognon_," and Combrisson carried on in the back kitchen his
carpentry business at which he kept these same lodgers employed, paying
them in kind with food and house-room, and doling out a few shillings
now and again as pocket-money. In this way he succeeded in combining
philanthropy and business, and though, after a few months, his employees
invariably left as soon as they had learned a little of the English
language and English prices, still there were always new-comers willing,
nay anxious, to replace them.
After a few preliminary words of introduction, I produced the jewellery
for Madame Combrisson's inspection. She was a small wiry woman, with
hard, covetous grey eyes, grizzled hair screwed up in a tight knot on
the top of her head, a nose like the beak of a bird of prey, and thin
blue lips. Her eyes lit up as her hands turned over the little diamond
brooch and finely-chased gold bracelet which I submitted to her
inspection.
"Of course I am not a judge," she said, "but I should think we could
easily raise a little money on these. I wish I had it myself, I would
willingly give it for the Cause, but, _que voulez vous, mademoiselle_?
we are but poor folk; however, I know some one near here who might
perhaps be able to oblige us; I will go and see."
Bonafede winked at me and I could see that he considered the matter
settled. He and Combrisson left the kitchen and I remained alone with
madame, who proceeded to take her fringe out of the curl-papers, and to
exchange her petticoat and red flannel jacket for a somewhat rusty black
dress. Whilst performing her toilette she eyed me carefully. I noticed
that since she had inspected the jewellery she had involuntarily assumed
a more respectful tone in addressing me. "I hear from the comrades that
you are very active in the Cause, mademoiselle; have you been long in
the movement?"
I replied that it was getting on for two years.
"And your family, are they Anarchists also?"
I explained that my parents were dead and that I was the only one of
my family who worked in the movement. She seemed surprised at this
information, "But you must be rich," she said: "that jewellery you have
brought is very beautiful; you are young, you could enjoy yourself,
mix with those of your own class; why do you work in a printing-office
instead?"
"But I am an Anarchist. We must all do what we can to help the Cause, I
do my best; not more, however, than other comrades."
She seemed by now to have summed me up, though I was evidently still
somewhat of a mystery to her, and she merely said:--
"Oh, of course we are all Anarchists; we all do our best for the Cause."
As she was leaving, Bonafede came down and said that Matthieu would like
to see me if I saw fit, and together we mounted to the back attic where
the dynamitard was concealed.
Nobody could have guessed on sight that the puny little man before me
could be the dreaded Anarchist for whom the police of Europe had been
searching high and low during the past seven months. Matthieu was a
tailor by trade, and his physique bore traces of the sedentary work
and of the long hours passed in close unhealthy rooms. He was slightly
hunchbacked, his chest narrow and hollow, his legs bowed; his pale blue
eyes with their swollen red lids had the strained expression of one
accustomed to make use of the last rays of daylight before lighting the
lamp. His massive jaw and firm round chin, and high narrow forehead
were the only features which revealed in him the man of action and the
fanatic. Yet this was the man who, by a series of explosions culminating
in the blowing up of a police station, had spread terror in the ranks of
the French bourgeoisie.
We shook hands, and I told them how I had been followed by Detective
Limpet and how he and O'Brien were stationed opposite the house.
"Yes," said Bonafede, "it is certain that they suspect Matthieu's
presence here; we must try to get rid of them in some way for a short
while; set them off on some false scent, so as to enable our comrade to
leave the house."
"If you would only let me do as I wish," broke in Matthieu, "I would
soon be out of this. I have a good revolver and I am not afraid to
use it. I would make a rush for it, and ten to one I should get off
scot-free; and anyhow better be taken fighting than caught like a rat in
a hole."
We both tried to dissuade him, arguing that there was always time to
take such a step, and that with a little patience and ingenuity it was
almost certain that a means would be found for his safe escape.
In a few minutes Madame Combrisson entered the room. She handed me over
£10 and a receipt for the pledges, adding that her friend would not be
induced to lend more. I handed the sum over to Bonafede. He had now £22
in hand, so that the financial side of the difficulty was solved. Madame
Combrisson, however, had news. A neighbour had informed her that Chief
Inspector Deveril had been seen in the street, and that, after giving
instructions to his two subordinates not to move from their post
of observation, he had left, it was supposed, in order to procure a
search-warrant. This news filled us with alarm. Almost any minute now
the police might claim entrance to the house, and then Matthieu would
inevitably be caught. What was to be done? I was told off to look out
of a front window from behind a curtain and report on the situation, but
only to return with the news that Limpet and O'Brien were both leaning
airily on their sticks studying the heavens with imperturbable calm.
Matthieu was growing restless. He walked up and down the small room like
a caged beast, nervously clutching at the revolver which he kept in his
trouser pocket. Madame Combrisson kept bemoaning her fate, saying that
it would be the ruin of her house if the police entered. Bonafede alone
remained calm and collected. At last he exclaimed, looking at his watch,
"It is now past eleven, in another half-hour the public-houses will
open, let us hope that our friends below may turn in to refresh
themselves. In that minute Matthieu must escape; we must have everything
ready; he had better change his clothes and disguise himself as much as
possible. We will leave together; we are both armed, and if the worst
comes to the worst we will sell our lives dearly."
"Oh, my poor house, my poor house!" moaned madame, "this business will
be the death of us all."
Bonafede turned on her savagely. "This is no time for recriminations,"
he exclaimed. "Sharpen your wits and see if you cannot find some means
of getting rid of those spies. You are clever enough when it is a
question of serving your own interests."
Madame Combrisson seemed electrified by these words.
"I will try, Comrade, only give me time to think." Next minute, she
exclaimed, "How would it do to send down two of the comrades to pick a
quarrel in the street? They could start a fight, a crowd will assemble,
the detectives will go to see what is up, and you and Matthieu can avail
yourselves of the confusion to escape."
"Good!" replied Bonafede, "go and see about it at once. I will help
Matthieu to get ready, and you, Isabel, be on the look-out, and let us
know when the right moment has come."
I stationed myself behind the curtain at the front parlour window. In
a few minutes I saw a young German who lodged in the house rush up
the area steps into the street, followed by Combrisson. They were both
shouting and gesticulating loudly, and Combrisson seemed to be demanding
money which the other refused. A few passers-by stopped to listen to the
two foreigners, who danced around, growing ever more noisy; but Limpet
and O'Brien stood firm. They looked at the combatants, but seemed to
consider the matter as a joke, and only crossed over to our side of
the way when they saw a crowd begin to assemble. The quarrel between
Combrisson and his lodger began to flag when they saw that their object
had failed, and the German soon walked off in the direction of Tottenham
Court Road. I watched the detectives cross over to their former post of
observation, and was just going to inform the comrades of the negative
result of this manoeuvre when I saw Inspector Deveril coming down the
street. For a second I stood paralysed with apprehension: all was up
with my friends! Next moment I had climbed the four flights, and given
the dreaded news.
Matthieu rushed to the attic window. It gave on to a wide gutter which
ran along several roofs. "This is my only means of escape. I will get
into one of these other houses by the skylight, and escape at the front
door whilst they are searching here."
"And if any one tries to stop you?" I exclaimed.
"So much the worse for them," he replied, clutching his revolver.
He was already outside the window when Bonafede spoke, advising him to
wait a minute whilst we saw what was going on. As soon as the police
knocked, he could carry out his plan. To be noticed by them on the roof
would be fatal to its success.
At that moment Combrisson rushed in. "I cannot tell what has happened.
Deveril spoke to those two spies and has walked off. The public-house
has opened, Limpet has gone inside, and only O'Brien remains on guard."
We all three went downstairs to watch proceedings, leaving Matthieu by
the window, ready at a moment's notice to put his desperate project into
execution.
Sure enough, all was quiet in the street below; passers-by were hurrying
home to their Sunday dinners, the smell of which pervaded the street
and house, and O'Brien stood at the door of the opposite pub, leaning
gracefully on his stick and gazing at the windows of our house. We stood
watching for about a quarter of an hour, fully expecting to see the
police appear; the room had gradually filled with the lodgers, all on
the _qui vive_, and jabbering fluently in foreign tongues. As nobody
came and all seemed quiet, Bonafede and I returned upstairs to reassure
Matthieu.
In a few minutes we heard a ring at the door.
"It is they!" we exclaimed, and Matthieu leapt to the window, whilst
Bonafede rushed to the door, which burst open, giving admittance to a
strange-looking figure. The new-comer had the slight build and nervous
carriage of a Frenchman, but was got up in the most aggressively British
attire. Clean-shaven, with a short bulldog pipe in the corner of
his mouth, a billycock hat set rather jauntily on his head, a short,
drab-coloured overcoat of horsy cut, black and white check trousers,
red-skin riding gloves, square-toed walking shoes, a light cane, and a
rose in his buttonhole; you would have taken him at first sight for
a sporting tipster. Matthieu, who had stopped short at this sudden
apparition, and Bonafede, both stood staring in amazement. The new-comer
looked at them with a wicked twinkle in his eye, and burst out into a
hearty laugh.
"Why, it is you, Sylvestre," the Italian at last said, whilst Matthieu
jumped down into the room. "But what on earth have you done to yourself?
I should never have recognised you?"
"Ah! so I look in character, then? If you did not recognise me no wonder
that I was able to take in those gaping clodhoppers, fresh from their
turnip-fields, in the street below. I have news for you. Just listen,"
but here he broke off, for, looking round the room, he had caught
sight of me (I had stood speechless in a corner whilst this scene was
enacted). "First though, my dear fellow, I must beg you to introduce
me to the lady. The emotions of the moment seem to have made you and
Matthieu forget all manners."
Bonafede turned smilingly towards me, and introduced us: "Armand
Sylvestre, a French comrade; Isabel Meredith, editor of the _Tocsin_."
The Frenchman made me an elegant and profound bow in strange contrast
with his sporting appearance, removing his hat, which he had till then
kept on.
"But what has happened to you, Sylvestre?" exclaimed Matthieu. "Your
hair has turned purple."
"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't look at my hair. A most awful fate has
befallen it. Yesterday I heard from Cotteaux that you intended leaving
soon, so I settled to come down here this morning, and thought it would
be as well to disguise myself; one never knows, one can sometimes get
such a lot of fun out of those heavy-witted, pudding-eating police. So
I asked Marie to go into a West End hairdresser's and procure some black
hair-dye, as I know my gold locks are well known to our friends below.
She asked for some, explaining that it was for theatricals, and last
night I tried it. With what result you see!--and mind I only made up my
mind to come out after washing it some dozen times. Now, with a hat on,
it's not very noticeable, but if you could have seen it last night; it
had turned the real imperial shade of purple! It was a sight for the
gods!"
We all laughed heartily at his adventure, the humour of which was
heightened by the mock pathos and tragedy with which he narrated it.
But Matthieu, who was straining his ears to catch the slightest sound
downstairs, asked him to proceed with his news.
"_Oh, mais vous saves, mademoiselle, votre pays est tout-à-fait
épatant_," he began, turning to me. "As I came down the street I noticed
Deveril speaking with those two satellites of his outside the 'Cat and
Mouse.' I at once guessed something was up here, and thought I would
try and pump them, so I walked into the bar and asked in my best English
accent for a whisky and soda, throwing down a half-sovereign to pay for
it, and began talking about racing bets with the barman. As I expected,
after a few minutes, Limpet entered, asking for a glass of bitter; he
soon got interested in our talk. I was giving tips with the air of a
Newmarket jockey, and as he had finished his drink I offered to treat
him. He hesitated, saying that he was in a hurry, and I then pumped the
whole tale out of him, how he and his comrade were watching this house,
where they had reason to know that a dangerous French Anarchist was
concealed, and so forth and so on.
"'But,' I said, 'if this is so, why do you not get a warrant to search
the house?' And he then explained to me that the inspector had wished so
to do, but that the magistrate, spite of his entreaties, had refused to
sign the warrant because it was Sunday!! Yes, this is an extraordinary
country. Society must be saved, but before everything the Sabbath must
not be broken. _C'est delicieux!_ Having gained this information, I
politely wished him good day, and walked over to this house. You should
have seen the faces of those two men. I expect their mouths are open
still."
We all stared at each other at this information. This, then, was the
secret of the situation. The English Sunday had saved our comrade!
Bonafede went downstairs to summon the Combrissons and relieve their
minds. We had now nearly twenty-four hours before us; it was certain
that till nine o'clock on Monday morning the search-warrant would not be
signed. In this interval Matthieu must leave the house, but how?
Sylvestre, who evidently looked upon the whole question as a good
joke--_une bonne blague_--suggested that the dynamitard should dress up
in his sporting attire; he urged that the detectives had seen him enter
and could not be surprised at his leaving, and that this would be the
best solution of the difficulty. The idea seemed feasible, and it was
tried on. Matthieu got into the check trousers and horsy overcoat,
but the effect was too ludicrous, and he was the first to laugh at the
figure he cut in the looking-glass. Something else must be found. Madame
Combrisson came to the rescue. She reminded us of a Jewish comrade,
also a tailor by trade, who was not unlike Matthieu, being slightly
hunchbacked. Her idea was to get him round, dress him in the fugitive's
clothes, let Bonafede call a cab in an ostentatious style, into which
the false Matthieu was to jump and drive off; the detectives would
probably follow on their bicycles, and then was our opportunity. Only,
how to get this man on to the scene without his advent being noticed by
them? For if he were seen to enter, the game was up; his exit would not
cause surprise. We were still face to face with the same difficulty, and
Matthieu once more began to pace the room like a wild beast in a cage.
Sylvestre broke the silence. "The only way out of the difficulty is to
disguise our man. Dress him up as a woman; he will then enter without
causing observation."
In a few minutes all was settled. I was to leave with the hand-bag in
which I had brought in the jewellery to be pawned; but this time it was
to contain a dress belonging to Madame Combrisson. With this I was to
proceed to the lodging of the Jewish comrade, Yoski, taking care to lose
on the way any detective who might be following me. Yoski was to dress
himself in the woman's clothes, and return with me to Grafton Street,
care being taken that the detectives should notice his entry. He was
then to exchange his female attire for Matthieu's clothes and drive off
in a cab, as previously arranged, and then Matthieu, in his turn donning
the skirt and blouse, was to leave the house on my arm, whilst the
police would be rushing after a red-herring. Sylvestre turned a
somersault to express his joy, and, slapping Matthieu on the shoulder,
said, "Why, before long, _mon vieux_, you will again be treading the
flags of Paris, and, let us hope, frightening the bourgeois out of their
wits."
By two o'clock I was on my way. When I left the house Deveril was
talking with O'Brien over the way; Limpet had disappeared for the time
being. The inspector at once noticed my presence, and, calling to a
corner-boy lounging at the public-house door, he spoke to him, pointing
me out, and this "copper's nark" followed doggedly in my steps. Yoski
lived in a turning off the Mile-End Road, but anxious to give no inkling
as to my destination, I turned in the opposite direction, and after
a lengthy _détour_ stopped at my own door. I stayed indoors nearly an
hour, hoping that my attendant's patience would give out, but he showed
no signs of moving, time was precious, and I decided to set out once
more. This time I walked down the Euston Road to the beginning of
Marylebone Road, where I jumped on to a bus going towards Maida Vale.
The youth did likewise, and at the beginning of the Kilburn High Street
I descended, making my way up that dreary road. I began to despair of
ridding myself of my pursuer. I was miles out of my way, the hours
were passing, and he still dogged my steps. I trudged along, weary and
worried, weighed down with the responsibility of my position. Suddenly
my eyes caught sight of a solitary hansom coming slowly towards me, I
hurried forward, the youth was some paces behind me on the other side
of the road, and before he had time to realise what I was up to I had
boarded that hansom and shouted to the cabman, "Five shillings, if you
set me down at Baker Street Station in ten minutes," and away we went.
I looked out of the spy window in the back of the cab and saw my "nark"
standing staring in the middle of the road. At Baker Street I took a
ticket for the Edgeware Road and there I jumped into a train for Aldgate
Station. When I once more found myself in the streets I looked carefully
around me and to my relief was able to assure myself that no one was
following me. Taking a circuitous route, for greater precaution, I at
last reached my destination.
I seemed to be in a foreign country. Dark-eyed comely women and
pretty children, dressed in gay colours, were walking up and down. The
shop-signs and advertisements were mostly written in Hebrew characters,
loud conversation in a foreign language accompanied by vivacious
gesticulation, caught the ear. The narrow, dirty street was swarming
with inhabitants, the front doors were mostly open, and many people had
placed chairs on the doorsteps and pavement and were sitting out, though
it would be an euphemism to speak of enjoying the fresh air in such a
neighbourhood. The house at which I stopped was a six-roomed "cottage,"
but whilst I stood on the doorstep, waiting to gain admittance, at
least fourteen persons passed in and out. At last a wizened old woman,
scrutinising me suspiciously, answered my inquiries.
"Yoski! yes, he live on the tird floor back, vis his vife and schwester.
Yes, you will find him in."
Yoski was a small, unhealthy-looking man, not much unlike Matthieu,
though darker in colouring, and of a weaker type of face. He was a
serious, silent, earnest man, a model of solidarity, regularly setting
aside his weekly contribution to the Cause out of his meagre earning on
which he had to maintain a wife and four children and a young sister.
They all lived in the one room, but one felt that this did not cause
them any suffering; they were evidently used to it. The three grown-ups
were all at work when I entered, and the children clustered round like
inquisitive little animals. I explained briefly my identity and the
object of my visit, talking English, which was not understood by his
female relatives. He nodded gravely, and said: "But I cannot change
here; it would cause too much curiosity. I will tell my wife that I must
go with you for some work, and I will go into the room of a friend of
mine who is out and dress there." He did as he said and we left the room
together.
On the landing I handed him the bag. "Is everything here?" he inquired,
"hat and all?"
The hat! Who had thought of it? And yet without that it was impossible
to go out.
"Cannot you get at your wife's or your sister's?" I inquired.
"Impossible," he replied, "they would never give me a moment's peace
till they knew why I wanted it. You might, however, try with Rebecca
Wiesmann; she is a comrade and lives two streets farther down. Do not,
however, tell her all this matter; make up some story and see if you can
manage."
Much doubting my success, I went round to Rebecca's. I had seen her
sometimes at meetings, but I felt that she would be surprised at my
appearance, and still more at my errand. Still there was nothing for
it, the shops were all shut, and so I went round to her. This girl lived
alone, having separated from her parents, who were strictly orthodox and
intolerant Jews. She was indeed taken aback at seeing me, but did not
like to refuse my request. I told her that I was expected at a comrade's
house, that I had been followed by detectives and wished to lose
sight of them, and she, with the foreign Jews' dread of policemen as
omnipotent beings, swallowed the tale and provided me with a showy best
hat quite unlike my own. This I donned and left with my own in a paper
under my arm, in spite of her pressing offer to keep it for me.
In a few minutes I was knocking at the door Yoski had pointed out to
me. I found him ready, carefully shaved of his moustache, and quite
transformed in appearance. The hat and veil completed the disguise.
By six o'clock we were in Grafton Street. I was relieved to find that
Deveril had left, and that only Limpet and O'Brien were on guard. They
took a good stare at us as we passed them by.
Combrisson himself opened to us. "Oh, here you are at last. We began to
fear you would never come. It has been as much as we could do to prevent
Matthieu from spoiling everything by making a rush for it. Come in,
there is not a moment to lose. Deveril may be back any minute, and he's
not so easily gulled as those two mugs."
We found Matthieu in a state of great nervous excitement. The long,
anxious hours of waiting had told on him. A nervous twitch convulsed his
mouth. He jumped spasmodically to his feet as we entered the room. "At
last," exclaimed Bonafede, with a sigh of relief on seeing us. "Now,
Matthieu," he said, laying a hand encouragingly on the man's shoulder,
"there is no time to be lost. Isabel will go downstairs whilst you two
exchange clothes. As soon as you are ready I will fetch the cabs. Be
courageous, and, above all, calm, and in half-an-hour all will be over."
I went downstairs with Madame Combrisson, and we paced nervously up and
down the front parlour. Every other minute one of us went to look out of
the window. It was nearly dark. The street lamps were lighting up, and
still the two detectives watched on the other side of the road.
"Where is Sylvestre?" I at last inquired, to break the tense silence.
"Who knows? He left about half-an-hour ago, saying he would soon be
back. He is off on some madcap expedition, you may be sure. He is a
dreadful _farceur._"
At that moment no fewer than three barrel-organs came up the street,
stopped nearly opposite the house, and started playing "The man who
broke the bank at Monte Carlo," and other similar classics. I was at the
window and saw Sylvestre go gravely up to the detectives, bow, say a few
words, and cross over to our door. Madame rushed out to open to him.
"So here you are, Mademoiselle. All is well, I hope?" he inquired.
I nodded assent.
"Oh, what a game it will be to see their faces to-morrow when Deveril
comes round with his warrant! Meanwhile, I was sure those poor devils
were boring themselves to death, so I went down to the Italian quarter
and brought back these musicians. I have just told them that I hope the
music will help them to pass a pleasant half-hour."
Just then Bonafede came down, followed by the false Matthieu. The lower
part of his face was concealed in a muffler, and the illusion was really
very deceptive.
"I am going now for the cab," said the Italian. "As soon as I return
Yoski must hurry out, jump in rapidly, and drive off. I shall be waiting
for you, Isabel, and Matthieu with a cab just by Shoolbred's; time
to leave the house five minutes after the departure of Yoski. Here is
Matthieu; you, Madame Combrisson, see if his dress is right; now I am
going."
"Wait a minute," exclaimed Sylvestre, "give me a bottle of whisky and
two glasses, I will go over and offer some to the 'tecs; it will look
as if I am trying to distract their attention from Bonafede and the cab,
and will lend truth to the scene."
All passed off to perfection. As the hansom drew up, Sylvestre, with
a polite bow, offered a drink to Limpet and O'Brien. The latter caught
sight of the cab, just as the false Matthieu hurriedly jumped in, and,
pushing the Frenchman roughly aside, he leapt on his bicycle and rushed
off in pursuit just as the cab disappeared round the street corner.
Bonafede had quietly slipped off down the Tottenham Court Road. Limpet
was pacing up and down distractedly, uncertain whether to stick to his
post or join his comrade in pursuit. In five minutes' time I quietly
walked out, arm in arm with Matthieu, turning round on the doorstep to
shake hands with Madame Combrisson. We walked boldly past Limpet, and
were soon at Shoolbred's, where I left the dynamitard with Bonafede,
and, taking a roundabout walk, returned within half-an-hour to Grafton
Street. In an hour's time Bonafede joined us. "All is well!" he
exclaimed; "within a couple of hours our comrade will be safe in
Leicester. It has been an anxious day, but it has ended better than I
had dared hope for."
"And now let us get some dinner," broke in Sylvestre, "I am just
fainting with hunger. Here is a sovereign, Madame; see if you can get
us something fit to eat, though I fear that, with this hateful English
Sunday, everything will be shut."
"Do not abuse the English Sunday," rejoined Bonafede, "to its sanctity
we owe our friend's escape."
We were soon enjoying a supper which Madame Combrisson got in from
the neighbouring Italian restaurant. We were all in high spirits, and
laughed and chatted freely. Limpet, and O'Brien who had returned after
satisfying himself as to the true identity of the false Matthieu, who
had driven straight home, kept pacing up and down in front of the area
railings, evidently half suspecting that we had played them a trick.
All that night we sat round the kitchen fire, chatting and dozing
alternately. At midnight Deveril came, accompanied by two other
officers, who relieved Limpet and O'Brien. The next morning, as the
clock hands pointed to 9.15, a loud rat-tat resounded through the house.
Deveril, with our two friends of the previous day, accompanied by three
uniformed policemen, were on the doorstep. Combrisson opened to them
with his most engaging smile. He politely read the warrant which the
inspector handed him, and bowed him in, saying that he was happy that
he should persuade himself that Matthieu was not, and never had been, on
the premises. Deveril seemed rather taken aback by this reception, but
was too sure of his case to feel much doubt.
Never shall I forget that man's face when, after a three hours' hunt in
every hole and corner of the building he had to come down persuaded that
his victim had escaped him.
He was perfectly green with rage. Turning to Bonafede who, with us
others, was sitting in the front parlour, he said, "Well, Signore, you
have been one too much for me on this occasion, but remember, he laughs
best who laughs last. We shall doubtless meet again soon."
Bonafede merely shrugged his shoulders and turned aside, whilst the
crestfallen Limpet, who had evidently received a severe wigging from
his superior for allowing his quarry to escape, turned on me a look of
intense hatred and hissed out,
"Remember, miss, you may not always be in London; you will yet pay
me for this!" and with this melodramatic threat he and his comrades
departed amidst the jeers of the assembled lodgers.
In the street they were met by deafening shouts of "Vive Deveril! Hurrah
for the detective force!" Sylvestre, who had slipped out a few minutes
before the arrival of the police, had assembled in the road all the
Italian comrades of the _Tocsin_ group, several Frenchmen of his own
acquaintance, and four or five organ-grinders, and amidst the ironic
cheers of their enemies, the dejected guardians of law and order made
their shamefaced exit from the scene.