It was with the conviction that Penelope Noelson was the key to the
mystery that Labar made his way back to town. The hint that she would
be detained would scarcely have stirred Larry Hughes as it had, unless
she was in the plot. True, Labar was not as certain as he might have
wished. He had not been entirely candid with Larry Hughes. She had not
been identified as changing the forged cheque, although Malone had that
morning reported that so far as the cashier recollected it had been a
woman who passed it over the counter. And according to the man he had
left to keep observation upon her, she had not gone from Streetly House
the previous night. If that was so she could not be the lady of the
sandbag. There remained the episode of the hundred pound note--the only
definite thing that he could prove against her.
He looked in at Grape Street before proceeding to Streetly House, to
pick up such fresh threads as might have been collected during his
absence. There was the inevitable string of reports, some entirely
valueless, some which might become of importance or futile in the
light of future events. He sifted them through rapidly. Here was the
statement that Malone had taken from the bank cashier. Here was a plan
drawn by a police surveyor of Streetly House. Here was the report--very
sketchy--of Larry Hughes' movements for the last week. Here were
other reports of the recent doings of certain notabilities of the
underworld. Not only had the C.I.D. men been busy, but their jackals,
the "informants," had been whipped up in force. The drag-net had been
cast over London, and here on Labar's desk was the result.
He paused over two things. One was an abrupt note from Winter. "Have
you noticed this? It is from Monday's _Times_."
Pasted on a sheet of paper was a cutting from the personal column.
"Panjandrum. Urgent. All fixed for to-night. Keep Walloper
straight, and inform. Have not seen him. Piccadilly Tube. Same
time."
Now, it was on Monday night that the theft had occurred, and the
personal column is a simple means of communication between those who
do not care to risk the mails or a direct interview. Of course, the
advertisement might have been inserted by an entirely innocent person
outside the affair. On the other hand it was likely enough to have
some bearing on the crime.
The other document that interested Labar was a report from a smart
young detective sergeant who was in charge of an out-lying station. It
told of one, Gold Dust Teddy, who had left his little suburban house
on the Monday, and had been absent all night. Teddy was one of the few
men who had the craftsmanship to execute a great burglary. He was not
a great thief for two reasons. Apart from an uncanny mechanical skill
he had no other asset for his career--no imagination, no finesse.
And he had periodical drinking bouts. These two things had brought
him to grief on occasion. The hall-mark of his failure was that his
finger-prints were on record at Scotland Yard.
Teddy, it appeared--one may observe the use of the informant in the
detective sergeant's report--had been on the water-wagon for some
time. But a week ago he had broken out. For two or three days he had
drunk steadily, and finished up by breaking the jaw of one of his
boon companions who had refused to lend him money. Then he had laid
up to recover as was his habit. On Tuesday he had gone on a drinking
bout again, and that seemed likely to continue indefinitely. During
his absence the sergeant had talked with his wife, who would give
nothing away. But he had rescued from the grate of a room during the
conversation a half-burnt scrap of paper which he enclosed.
"All ready. Cut out b---- put you in the mud. Meet----"
Labar considered matters thoughtfully. This was too good to be true.
If he was able to add two and two together correctly it might lead
anywhere. It looked reasonably certain that Gold Dust Teddy was one of
Larry's tools. All the same, to rope in a drunken burglar did not of
necessity mean that he would be any nearer to getting Larry Hughes.
It was on record that Larry had contrived to slip from the meshes on
similar occasions.
He sent for one of his men. "Go out and see Simmons. Tell him that
you're to help him bring in Gold Dust Teddy. If Teddy wants to know why
he's pinched you haven't got any idea. Follow that. Just bring him in.
Take a pair of cuffs with you. He may be rough to handle."
The theory that a Scotland Yard man carries handcuffs habitually in his
pocket dies hard. They are heavy things, and he takes them only when he
needs them, which is seldom.
A ragged shrill whistle which remotely resembled a tune heralded the
entrance of Malone. "You here, guv'nor. There's a lady asking to see
you downstairs. Passed her on the way up."
"Can't see anyone this morning, Bill. It's my busy day. Somebody whose
cook has got away with the fish knives I expect. You go and have a word
with her."
"I think you'll see this one," said Malone. "She's Miss Penelope
Noelson."
The girl was pale, but her voice was firm as she returned Labar's
formal greeting.
"I was on my way to see you," he said.
"I expected you earlier," she returned a trifle wearily. "As you didn't
come I thought it well----"
"I hope you let me have the full story," he interrupted. "You have had
time to sleep over it, and perhaps you will see the wisdom of being
absolutely frank. But understand you are not compelled to say anything.
I shall conceivably have to use it against you."
"It has been a nightmare since yesterday," she confessed, speaking
slowly, as with effort. "If you intend to arrest me you will have to.
I know--what you think--I don't blame you." She choked back something
very like a sob. "I can only tell you I am almost innocent. I can see
how black things must look to you; but that is the truth. There are
others--I cannot tell you all."
There is a wholesome rule that a police officer must not question a
person whom he knows he will in all probability have to arrest. It is
a rule which strictly applied would leave many mysteries unexplained,
and detectives have at times to walk warily round it, taking a certain
amount of risk.
"You are _almost_ innocent," he repeated. "What does that mean,
exactly? There are other people you are shielding? Come, Miss
Noelson, there is nothing to be gained by hanging back. Do you know
what this mistaken chivalry may mean? It will save no one. It may mean
disgrace--ruin--the prison taint--for you. Why take the chance--the
almost certainty?"
He was leaning across the table with folded arms, his eyes fixed
on her face. She avoided his gaze, and her hands tortured a small
handkerchief. Clearly she was moved almost beyond endurance.
"Oh, leave me alone," she cried. "Can't you understand, Mr. Labar. You
are a decent man. I don't know what is the right thing to do. I can
only tell you that I gave you that note for--for someone else. I never
knew--I never realised what it all meant. I came to tell you that. You
mustn't ask me anything else."
He came towards her and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. "You
poor child," he said, and there was genuine sympathy in his tone. "If
I were your elder brother, my dear girl, I should give you the same
advice that I'm offering you now. Get this off your mind. Tell me
everything."
"You can lock me up," she said, faintly. "It will make no difference."
"But," he urged, "do you know who this man is that you are trying to
protect, this notorious crook, this----"
She looked at him, eyes wide open in amazement. He stopped abruptly.
"I am not trying to shield any notorious criminal," she declared.
"You may not know it, but Larry Hughes is one of the most dangerous men
in London."
She looked him straight in the eyes now. "That is the man you mentioned
yesterday. When I said I did not know him I was confused. I have met
him twice, or perhaps three times. He is no friend of mine--merely an
acquaintance."
"He is the man who engineered the burglary. He is not worth an ache of
your little finger."
"It is all so dreadfully mixed up," she exclaimed. "You must believe
me, Mr. Labar, I hardly know him."
He saw that it was scarcely worth pushing the harassed girl further
for the time, and bit his lips as he tried to consider the next move.
His duty, which he had seen clearly before this interview, was no less
plain now. The girl should be held if only on her own admission that
she was an accessory in the crime. But somehow he could not bring
himself to issue the order. He tried unsuccessfully to tell himself
that he was a fool to let himself be hypnotised by her. It was no use.
"Well, if you won't talk, you won't," he said with a shade of gruffness
in his tone. "That will do for now, Miss Noelson. I don't profess to
understand you."
"You mean--I can go?" she asked, hesitatingly.
"You can go," he agreed.
She held out a slim hand. "I want to thank you," she said simply.
"Better go now," he said, "before I change my mind."
He held the door open for her and stood for a while in thought
watching her as she descended the stairs. Another door opened, and a
man casually followed her. The mechanics of investigation have to be
obeyed, and Labar had no intention of calling off her shadow.
He returned to his desk, and picked up a document. But his agility of
mind had deserted him. He saw nothing but a pair of grey eyes--eyes
plaintive, protesting, pleading. For ten minutes he sat thus, lost to
the world. A sharp, imperative knock at the door, followed by the swift
entrance of one of his men, recalled him to himself.
"I'm sorry, sir," gasped the intruder, "Miss Noelson, Miss Noelson----"
Labar was at his side and shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Don't
stand there stammering, you fool. What's happened to Miss Noelson?"
"She's gone, sir. Just outside Streetly House it was. A gentleman
stopped to speak to her. I was thirty yards away. They walked a few
paces. Suddenly he lifted her into a big car that was standing at the
kerb. She shouted, but before I could reach them they were gone. That's
all, sir."
"You lump of mud. You condemned camel. What else did you do besides
gaping after them like a codfish? Did you get the car number? What was
the man like?"
Labar shook the man feverishly. The other pulled himself away
unresentfully. "It was a big Rolls, number K9362. The man was of medium
size, very well dressed in a light-grey suit----"
"Larry Hughes, by thunder!" ejaculated Labar.