There was no charge made against Stebbins that night, and inquiries
from the newspapers which were anxious to know more of the cause of
the affray were met with a stubborn silence. Labar, in fact, had gone
home after searching Stebbins carefully with his own hands. The rest he
felt could wait till he had some reasonable time for sleep. A night's
detention would do Stebbins no harm, and might put him in a frame of
mind to answer some questions that Labar had decided to defer till his
own mind was fresh.
With eight hours sleep, a bath, and a little medical attention to his
hurt, the inspector felt almost as spruce as he looked, when he arrived
at Grape Street in the morning. He cleared up a few odds and ends and
had Stebbins brought to his room. In the cold light of day that man
answered imperfectly to any conception of a desperate gunman. He was a
loose, tall man with a thin sallow face and weak chin. He had neither
shaved nor brushed his hair, and his shifty eyes were sunk in deep
circles. He eyed Labar nervously, as the detective motioned away his
escort, and placed a seat where the light from the window would fall on
the detained man's face.
"Sit down," said the detective pleasantly. "Have a cigarette. You look
pretty jagged this morning."
In silence Stebbins took the cigarette and seated himself with hunched
shoulders on the chair that was indicated. Labar leaned forward and
gave him a light.
"Had time to have a good think about things, haven't you? What made you
fly off the handle last night? Bit jumpy, weren't you?"
"I can't remember anything about last night," said Stebbins. "Must have
been drunk."
"Well, I wouldn't altogether say that." Labar's tone was that of
friendly disagreement. He stirred a little paper package that lay on
the edge of his desk with a long forefinger. "I guess you'd had a shot
too much, but it wasn't drink, eh?"
"Right oh," agreed the other languidly. "I was doped."
"Want me to have that written down?" asked Labar. "You know I may have
to use any statement you may make as evidence?"
"You've got me. I may as well shoot the whole works." He stretched out
a shaking hand and Labar gently removed the package of heroin beyond
reach. "Give me just a nip of that and I'll tell you where I got it."
"No. You must ask the doctor presently. Now tell me why you didn't skip
as you were advised to?"
"Advised to?" Stebbins shook his head blankly.
Labar held a dirty piece of paper in front of him and read. "The point
is full of the greatest possible interest to me. I shall be glad to
see you at some time and discuss it in detail. You will of course let
me know when you are coming. These things can be settled so much more
easily by word of mouth."
There was a gleam of intelligence in Stebbins' eyes that swiftly faded
to be replaced by a sullen mask of bewilderment. "That's Greek to me,"
he declared.
"I thought you were going to come clean," observed Labar mildly. "Let
me remind you of one or two things. I don't know what you've been doing
this past eight or nine years, but if you've been going straight you'll
get the credit, if you don't try to fool me. Now last night I sent your
finger-prints to the Yard and had you looked up. You came out from a
three years sentence nine years ago. Before that you had done terms in
the States and one or two sentences of hard labour here. All of these
are on record. Now this letter." He tapped the paper beneath his hand.
"I don't know whether you've forgotten the properties of gum arabic, or
whether you were too fuddled yesterday to make use of your knowledge."
He breathed on the paper and crossing to the grate scraped up some
dust with his fingers and sprinkled it over the letter. Irregular block
letters appeared between the lines and he thrust the slip beneath the
face of the man.
"See that. 'Panjandrum says get out at once. Splits know of your
business. Get under cover right away.' Now who sent you that? Who is
Panjandrum?"
Stebbins puffed hard at his cigarette and his eyebrows drew together
in an attempt at concentration. "Guess that was sent to me," he said
slowly. "Perhaps someone slipped it to me. I dunno. I must have forgot
it. If I'd read it I would have been where you wouldn't have found me."
"Who is Panjandrum?" repeated Labar.
"Panjandrum. Why! that'll be the boss. I don't know who he is. I've
never seen him."
The inspector thought that quite likely. It was impossible that Larry
had had any dealings direct with this drug-sodden crook. "Who put you
up to this Streetly House business?" he demanded. "Tell me how you got
into that."
"That," Stebbins reflected. "Oh, it was Billy Bungey who gave me the
tip that I could get a job there. He got me some references and all.
Say, there's a nice little bird at that place. She's a peach. You
ought----"
"Did she have anything to do with this business?"
A languid gesture of denial met the question. "Oh, no. Not in that way.
'Course I learned a few things from her."
"Never mind about her for the moment then. Tell me how Billy came to
ask you to bear a hand. What did you have to do, and how much did you
get out of it?"
In stumbling and random phrases Stebbins told what the inspector
believed to be a truthful story of his association with the robbery.
It was difficult always to keep him to the point, and Malone who
was laboriously writing down his statement in longhand clicked his
tongue impatiently at times, as he waited with poised pen, until a few
incisive questions from Labar had unravelled the tangle.
Stebbins was a type of a shiftless cunning species of crook which is
well known to the Criminal Investigation Department. He was a drifter,
weak and unscrupulous, lacking the imagination or skill of more
successful rogues. Without leadership it was inevitable that any of his
clumsy crimes, from smashing a jeweller's window to petty thefts in the
suburbs, should bring him straight into the hands of the police. In
this manner had the terms of imprisonment which had been ferreted out
from the records been brought to him. He had dodged hopelessly to the
United States where he had also been harried, until the lapse of years
had brought him back to this country, where as a minor thief he was
nearly forgotten, to act when occasion offered as jackal to bolder and
more enterprising spirits.
Billy Bungey, it appeared, had stumbled across him by accident at some
race meeting, and learned that Stebbins--which of course was not his
real name--was making a more or less precarious existence by washing
windows at the Palatial Restaurant. There had been one or two small
pilferings and Stebbins confided that he expected at any moment to lose
his job.
With the spacious condescension of a race-gang leader to an inferior
being Billy had hinted that he might find Stebbins profitable work. A
meeting had been arranged to take place later at a public-house a few
hundred yards from Blackfriars Bridge, and there it had been suggested
to him that he might get an appointment as odd-job man at Streetly
House. Billy even had his references all in order. Stebbins was to
apply to the butler and to say that he was the man that Mr. Hughes had
spoken about.
"You go and get this job, first," said Billy Bungey. "Then we'll talk
about what we want you to do."
Stebbins told Labar that, up to that time, he had never even heard of
the Gertstein collection--which was quite likely, since he moved in
circles that would never dream of such a coup. However, he was accepted
at Streetly House, and then Billy unfolded the plan to him in some
part. He was to study the lay of the house particularly, to find out
what steps were taken to protect the jewels, and in fact to learn every
detail that could possibly assist in a raid. This he was to communicate
to a Mr. Blake at the _poste restante_ at Bruges.
"You'll get a tenner a week," explained Billy, "and five hundred
pounds if the job is pulled off clean."
No hint was then given as to the time or method of the robbery. All
instructions would reach Stebbins either by letter addressed to him at
an accommodation address, or through Billy Bungey. It was pointed out
to him that he must on no account seek out the latter unless sent for.
After a few days, a man whom Stebbins did not know, was introduced
to him and he was given some instructions on the art of taking wax
impressions of keys. He was to use his ingenuity to get an impression
of every key that he could lay his hands upon, particularly of one of
a small back door that was rarely used. He succeeded in this, and keys
which were made from the impressions were sent to him to try. In one or
two cases they had to be returned to be tinkered with afresh. At last
all was ready and Stebbins was warned to throw up his job on the plea
of illness. But the attraction of one of the maids had caused him to
delay doing so. He was astonished to read of the burglary on the day
that followed his retirement. The day after that he had been handed
a parcel containing five hundred one pound treasury notes. These had
reached him by a district messenger and there was no indication from
whom they came. Nor, as he frankly said, was there any reason for him
to make inquiries.
"And," demanded Labar, "you never saw anyone except Billy Bungey, and
this fellow who talked to you about the keys?"
The prisoner made a jerky gesture of assent. "That's all I know."
The inspector took the statement from Malone and slowly read it aloud,
now and again pressing home a fresh question to elucidate a point.
Stebbins listened stolidly, and answered with ready frankness. Labar's
face was inscrutable as he finished.
"This is a voluntary statement you understand," he said. "You are
willing to sign it?"
"Absolutely," agreed Stebbins. "It's all true."
He affixed his signature and was taken below for the formality of the
charge. He listened apathetically to the set official words in which
he was accused. Then he was hurried away to Marlborough Street Police
Court while Labar spent a few minutes on the telephone with Winter at
Scotland Yard.
The Chief Constable was affable. "Yes, I heard that you had had a busy
day. Not seriously hurt, I hope. That's all right. I'll be away down
and see you in court. I suppose this man has got to be charged to-day.
You know what that means? You'll have a horde of newspaper men on your
tail. There's the usual gang here now playing solo whist, I believe,
and waiting for something to turn up. Cheerio. See you some time in the
next half hour."
Labar had hoped, but scarcely expected, more than he had got from
Stebbins. There was certainly nothing in what Stebbins had said
that could implicate Larry Hughes directly. Larry as usual had been
remote, aloof from his lesser helpers. It was characteristic of his
methods that he should have used this drug-sodden crook as a blind
tool. He must have foreseen the possibility of Stebbins being traced,
although he had taken every precaution against it. True, Stebbins knew
that Billy Bungey was in the business, but Billy had not been known
as an associate of the master criminal. If it had not been for the
episode at "Maid's Retreat," Labar would never have considered the two
together. There was no likelihood that inquiries which would have to be
undertaken about the "Mr. Blake" of the Bruges _poste restante_
would lead anywhere. No, the trail that might have led from Stebbins
to Larry Hughes had been cleverly smothered. But for the coincidence
of the intervention of Penelope Noelson and Mrs. Gertstein, the C.I.D.
men might well have come to the conclusion that there was no hope of
linking Hughes with the crime.
However, from that angle of the case the hunt was up with a vengeance.
Labar bit his lips as he reflected that it was necessary to act swiftly
if he was to lay Larry Hughes by the heels. The other would be moving.
If there was any precaution that he had failed to take beforehand to
neutralise evidence against him, he would of a surety be looking into
it now. The trouble was that there was nothing which could lead to
immediate action.
It is conceivable that this would have been a matter of less concern to
the inspector had it not been for Penelope Noelson. Spite of himself,
spite of his attempts at strict concentration on the immediate aspects
of the case, he was alarmed for her. It should have been no concern
of his to view her other than as an item in the sum of the case.
His business lay in bringing home a crime to those responsible. The
possible peril of one or another of the people involved in the matter
should not be allowed to affect the main issue. Human nature, however,
being much the same at Scotland Yard as at other places, his judgment
was swayed to some extent.
He betook himself to Marlborough Street where he had to give formal
evidence of the arrest of Stebbins and asked for a remand. The thing
was over in five minutes and he returned to the police station with
Winter to have what the latter described as a heart to heart talk over
the situation.