From the cover of a group of lilacs the detective inspector glanced
swiftly back at the house a hundred yards away. A man was standing by
the window scanning the shrubbery. Apparently obeying some summons from
within he disappeared, only to return almost at once, accompanied by a
couple of other men. Labar thought that he could recognise one of them,
even at that distance, as a notorious race-gang tough who was known to
be the leader of a group of violent and reckless men which the police
had of late broken up. Billy Bungey had only escaped by the narrowest
margin from a conviction for murder.
The three separated to approach the shrubbery from different angles.
Labar hastily took stock of his position. He could not hope to cope
singlehanded with three armed and resolute men. Nor, if he remained
where he was, could there be any hope that he would ultimately escape
discovery. He took the undignified but sensible course of resuming his
flight.
Cautiously he pushed his way at a trot through the shrubbery. It gave
way suddenly to a piece of park land. A little to his left but some
three hundred yards away, was a belt of coppices. If he could reach
them he stood a chance of dodging his pursuers. To do so, however, he
must swerve obliquely towards the men and lose ground somewhat. To take
any other line meant that it would be a chase in the open, in which he
realised the likely possibility of being run down. He determined to
take the chance of the trees.
Keeping the pistol, that he had more or less unconsciously retained,
poised ready in his hand he made the dash. As he broke cover there was
a shout, and the sharp report of an automatic. That for the instant did
not worry him. He knew that he was out of range. The man who had fired
was now running madly to cut Labar off from his objective. At the very
best before the detective could reach the shelter of the trees he would
be well within shot, and he feared that these men, heated by the chase,
would think little of the consequences if they brought him down.
Once he stumbled over a rut in the ground and the nearest man gained
several yards. Another shot rang out and this time he heard it snarl
angrily over his head. There was fifty yards to go. In ordinary
circumstances he could have made it, but the loss of blood from his
wound had weakened him, and he knew that it would be but a matter
of a few yards at the finish between him and the foremost of his
pursuers--point blank range.
He halted abruptly and swinging in his tracks fired blindly at the
nearest man. He took no conscious aim, for he knew himself for a rotten
shot. He intended it only as a demonstration to check pursuit. But luck
was with him. He saw the first man stop in his stride, and seat himself
abruptly on the ground, nursing his ankle while he cursed venomously
and loudly.
Labar did not stop to admire his fluke. Breathing hard, he made the
shelter of the wood, and plunged on for thirty yards or so till he was
satisfied that he was out of sight. Then, copying a famous historical
example, he climbed into the sheltering branches of an ancient oak, and
rested with fluttering breath, while behind he could hear the crackling
of twigs as his two unhurt pursuers, who had abandoned their companion
for the while, beat about from the point at which he had entered.
He had little fear that they would discover him now, but he quietly
examined his weapon as their steps drew near, then receded, then drew
closer again.
At last he could distinguish their voices. "Like looking for a needle
in a haystack," complained one. "The bloke's made a clean get-away,
Billy."
"Can't have got far," retorted Billy Bungey. "He's hiding out somewhere
close handy. If we don't stop his mouth we're for it. I know the swab
and I'd be glad to make him a present of a handful of lead for old
time's sake. He's as artful as a wagon load of monkeys."
"Poor ol' Jim winged out there," said the other voice. "Hadn't we
better get back to him?"
Billy consigned Jim to the pit, with full-bodied adjectives. "Jim can
look after himself. We gotta find this John if it takes a month. Didn't
you hear what Larry said? We got to stop his mouth one way or the
other. He's got it on Larry--which means the rest of us. I guess he's
got me taped anyway. He must have recognised me."
"But, Billy, this is a dam fool's game. He may be well away and getting
help. We ought to make tracks. If he gets help----"
"Aw--shut up. You make me sick. Whatja think he's going to do? Bring
the village rozzer out by aeroplane, or what? There ain't any police
that he can get here for hours. Got an attack of the funks, ain't you?"
"All the same I'm chuckin' it," returned the other, sullenly. "I'm
goin' to move out of this district swift and sharp and sudden. It won't
be none too healthy if they picket the roads. I guess Larry'll agree.
If you want to picnic in these woods you can do it on your own."
He turned away with decision, and Billy reviling him for a yellow dog
followed. Labar waited till their voices had died away. Then he got
to the ground and began to pick his way at leisure through the copse.
He came at length to a ride, such as is cut in these places for the
convenience of sportsmen, and this rendered his progress easier. So,
following this, he reached another strip of the park, and climbing a
fence, found his way into a wheatfield.
He had but the remotest idea of the way in which he was travelling. But
sooner or later he must come to a road of some sort, and, thus to the
resources of civilisation, which were represented in his mind at the
moment by one thing--a telephone. If he could get to a telephone much
might be done before the day was out.
So at last he reached a country lane and, turning by pure guess work
to his right, was brought at last to a superior road two minutes
before a light car came speeding from the distance. He stepped to the
centre of the road with arms outstretched, and as the car drew up a
big-shouldered young man with a square chin peered suspiciously at him.
Labar remembered that he could not look a reassuring object. He was
hatless, dishevelled and dirty, and a bramble had caught his face in
the wood making a sinister scratch across it.
"What is it?" demanded the square-chinned young man.
"I want a lift to the nearest telephone, and then to a doctor's,"
explained the inspector.
"What's wrong? I'm a doctor."
Labar fumbled in his pockets and found his warrant card, and his
ordinary official card. He passed them over to the motorist. "I'm a
police officer, as these will show you. There are just two things you
can do for me. One is to send a telephone message. The other is to
patch me up and not bother me with questions till some later time."
The other descended from his car. "Right you are, Mr. Labar," he said
briskly. "Since I'm here and the telephone is two or three miles away,
we'll do the patching up first. Now let's have a look at you."
By the side of the car Labar stripped to the waist, and the doctor
with swift gentle skill examined his wound. "Nothing for a man of
your physique to worry about," he declared. "A superficial cut. Chief
trouble is that you've been losing blood. We'll soon put that right.
Lucky for you that I'm a country practitioner, and carry my supplies
about with me." He rummaged in the car. "Reminds me of the old army
days. Here, drink this, while I tie you up."
He passed a flask to the inspector and busied himself with lint
and bandages. Labar, who had been nearer to exhaustion than he had
permitted himself to think, felt a wave of new life in him. He began to
reconsider his plans.
"Doctor," he asked, "would it disarrange your affairs much, if I asked
your help for three or four hours?"
"Well," said the doctor, "I can't say that any of my patients would be
likely to die in that time."
"How fast is your car?"
"I suppose she could do seventy at a push."
"That's good. She can keep up with anything on the road?"
The doctor nodded. "Sure thing."
"Then I'm going to ask you to take me along to a place called 'Maid's
Retreat'--or rather to the road outside the lodge gates. There will
be a Rolls Royce somewhere in the vicinity, and I want to follow that
wherever it goes--if possible without giving the people in it an
indication that we are trailing them. What is your name?"
"Ware. I'm one of the local medicos."
"You won't need me to tell you, Dr. Ware, after what you've seen of me
that there may be trouble. Can you use a gun--an automatic pistol?"
"It's some years since I handled one, but I don't think that I've
forgotten all that I once knew."
"Take this then. I can't shoot for toffee. Don't use it unless I give
you the office. Now let's go."
Labar's original plan had been to get in touch with the nearest
considerable town where there was any reasonable reserve of police,
and have assistance sent out, while he would have also asked for steps
to be taken to notify all the police forces within a big area to keep
a look-out for Larry or any of his gang. That would have taken time,
and it was big odds that the net would have been drawn vainly. But
with a competent man, such as Dr. Ware seemed to be, at his elbow it
might be possible to regain and keep touch with the gang, until an
opportune moment for dealing with them arrived. They would assume, as
Billy Bungey had said, that Labar would be long in getting assistance,
and hampered as they were with one wounded man, if not two--for the
inspector was not sure how much he had injured Larry--they would not be
able to hurry unduly. He suspected that they had not brought their car
into the park. That would mean a long walk down to the lodge gates. He
did not see how they could have got away yet.
Something of what had happened he told the doctor. That gentleman was
smiling happily as he listened. Labar diagnosed him as a fighter by
temperament, who would enjoy a rough and tumble struggle far more than
he enjoyed administering pills.
They passed a side turning, and the doctor nudged Labar with his elbow.
"There's your Rolls," he said. "Your men are evidently still here. The
lodge gates are quarter of a mile up. What do I do?"
"Drive right by them till we are out of sight," said Labar. He had
turned up his coat collar and was leaning well back in the car. "Then
I'll get out and take a look round. They won't be expecting me back."
Ware obeyed his instructions. At a bend in the road some distance
beyond the lodge he pulled up. Labar got down and scribbling hastily in
his notebook tore out a page. "If anyone comes along give 'em that," he
said. "Ask 'em to telephone it as quickly as possible. It's a message
to the local police."
He moved warily along a dry ditch, till through the tall hedge he could
view the drive leading to "Maid's Retreat." The doctor turned the car
round, lit a cigarette and lifted the bonnet. That had been Labar's
suggestion. A motorist fiddling with the insides of his car was not
likely to arouse suspicion if perchance one of the gang caught sight of
him.
A full five minutes had gone when the inspector saw a single figure
hastening along the drive. As it came nearer he recognised the second
of the men who had pursued him. He considered whether he should call
the doctor and arrest the man as he came out of the lodge gates. After
a moment's thought he dismissed the idea. The man must be a messenger
sent to bring the car up to the house. To take him would be but to give
Larry the alarm. The detective resolved to wait.
At the entrance the man took a comprehensive glance up and down the
road, and then went his way. In a little the big saloon turned into the
gates and disappeared up the avenue towards the house.
Labar sighed for half a dozen of the stalwarts of his staff. With them
he would have had the whole lot in a trap. But it was hopeless to
think that he and the doctor could do much more than wait and see, and
it would be folly to take the risk. If he could find the haunt where
these men were lurking the rest would be easy. The thing now was to pin
them down. Burglary or no burglary, Larry Hughes had been associated in
an attempt to murder him. That was enough to arrest him on. If he could
once get Larry between the four walls of a cell, he promised himself
that he would now get at the evidence that would convict. Better to
wait. Besides, there was Penelope. He was sure now that she was being
held somewhere under coercion by Larry.
He had a glimpse of the Rolls Royce coming back, and signalled to
Ware. The doctor closed the bonnet and took his seat at the wheel. The
inspector slipped into the place by his side and as he made himself
as inconspicuous as possible, the little two seater slid into motion.
There was a doubt as to which way the big car would turn at the gates.
That had to be risked. The idea was to saunter by close upon it as it
emerged, as though on affairs that had no concern with its occupants
and thereafter to hold it in sight. Of course if it took the contrary
direction to that in which they were headed there would be delay. But
the doctor was confident that in any case he could overhaul it.
Fortunately they had guessed right. Barely fifty yards in front of them
the big car took the turn out of the gates to the left. It was moving
with deceptive speed, and Ware pushed down the accelerator. In five
minutes the two seater was swaying over the not too good road like a
boat at sea.
"It will make the speed," said the doctor, clinging grimly to the
wheel, "but you can't expect a light car to hold the road like a Rolls."
"Hang on to 'em. That's all I ask," said Labar.
The doctor pressed his hat more firmly on his head and nodded. Hedges
and trees were speeding by them in a wild goggling procession. The
speed indicator was touching fifty. It crept up to fifty-five, wavered,
and went on to sixty. Once they made a wild lurch as they swerved to
avoid a light farmer's trap, and Labar thought that they were over. But
by some miracle the doctor recovered. They took turnings on two wheels,
and swept across a main road in defiance of the warning hand of an
Automobile Association scout, to escape by half an inch crashing into a
big touring car.
"That's the Worthing Road," exclaimed Ware. "They're keeping to the
by-roads."
"Moving east near enough," said Labar. "I wonder if they've spotted us
yet."
"Have a chance if they'd get on to a frequented part," declared the
other. "If they keep to these lanes they're bound to know that we're
following."
The way bent and twisted and it was now only at occasional intervals
that they caught glimpses of their quarry. Suddenly Ware jammed on the
brakes. The car skidded on and came to a halt a yard from an unopened
gate, through which the road took a right angled abrupt bend and ended
peremptorily at a farmhouse. A second's inattention on the part of the
driver and they had crashed through the gate and into a pond beyond.
"Damn 'em. They've switched," exclaimed Ware.
"There was a turning a quarter of a mile back," said Labar. "I'm afraid
we've lost the scent, but we may as well go back and try."