Penelope impulsively gripped more tightly on Labar's arm, but the
detective could afford to take his antagonist's sneer with a certain
amount of equanimity.
"I told you that you couldn't go on bucking against the machine for
ever, Larry," he said. "And talking of fools, what made you mad enough
to go to Rye?"
Hughes fidgeted a little to get his bound hands in a more comfortable
position. "My dear Sherlock, if you had more brains and less luck,
you wouldn't ask me that question. Where is the last place that you
expected to find me to-day? Where are your people still looking for
me now? Not in Rye. Nor would they have looked very hard in London.
They're clustering round the ports interfering with innocent trippers.
Where would a hunted man with only ten pounds in his pocket make for
in the circumstances? I ask you. If he had any sense he'd go in the
direction that would be least obvious. He'd make for a place where he
could get funds and lay quiet till he could get snugly out of the
country."
"Sorry to have had to truss you up so tight," said Labar, as the
other writhed a little impatiently. "I wouldn't trouble to attempt to
loosen your hands." He left his seat and came over by Larry in obvious
readiness to deal with any contingency. "This is the finish, Larry. You
may as well take it easily."
Hughes sat quiet for a while. Then a bitter smile flickered about his
lips. "Machine or no machine, do you know what's thrown me down, Labar?
You and some of the dolts from Scotland Yard may preen yourselves, but
there's only one thing in it. Do you know Latin? _Quos Deus vult
perdere prius dementat._ In other words I made a fool of myself over
a woman." His glance rested for a moment on Penelope's face. "I mixed
love with my business. If I had left Miss Noelson alone would you have
known anything about 'Mope's Bottom'? You'd have had the devil's own
job to bring anything home to me. Even now I'd have been travelling
up to town, and left you and your gang running round in circles, if I
hadn't taken a desperate chance of snatching her at the last moment.
Yes, Miss Noelson, if it's any satisfaction to you it's you who have
finished me and not Scotland Yard."
"Go as far as you like," observed Labar. "The big fact is that here you
are and here I am. As a matter of curiosity how did you know where Miss
Noelson was to-day?"
"Easy," said Larry, contemptuously. "By the time I got to the town
every soul in it knew that there were happenings on the marsh. The
police knew, and the tradesmen knew, that a detective down from London
had started the affair. Rye isn't a big place and I know one or two of
the tradesfolk, although, of course, they didn't know I was the man all
the bother was about. I used my wits, Labar. Now let me ask how things
went at 'Mope's Bottom' after I left."
"We made a clean-up," explained the detective. "Nobody hurt very
seriously, but we've got the whole of the gang, and we've raided your
cache. You'll have to explain a lot of things."
Larry lifted his shoulders indifferently. "Oh, I'll take what's coming
to me. Let the boys down as light as you can. There's some white men
amongst them."
The detective made no reply and Larry subsided into a moody silence.
At the first stop Labar confided to Penelope a couple of wires to hand
from the window. He had no intention of taking his eyes from Larry. One
could never tell.
Thus it was that at Charing Cross a couple of men from Grape Street
were available as an escort for Larry, leaving Labar free to see the
girl safely settled at an hotel till some more permanent arrangement
could be made for her. Thence he made his way to Scotland Yard where
the omnipotent Commissioner of Police himself, was waiting to receive
some account of the affair and to offer his congratulations. By the
time Labar reached Grape Street the remainder of the prisoners had
been brought up from Lydd and Moreland was there to wring his hand and
perform a little war dance.
"So you've hooked Larry after all. Good for you, old bean. Let's go and
have a drink, and you can tell me all about it. Gad, I wouldn't wonder
if they made you an Assistant Commissioner after this."
Labar hooked his fingers in the lapels of his friend's waistcoat and
held him at arm's length. "Don't you be so mighty familiar with me,
Inspector Moreland. Remember that you are talking to your superior
officer."
"Gosh, they haven't?" Moreland opened his eyes in a wide stare. "Boy,
there's some live people at the Yard still whatever the papers say.
Chief Inspector Labar, if you'll leave off throttling me for a second,
I'll take off my hat to you. How an idle blighter like you got away
with it is beyond me. Now a real industrious, hard-working fellow like
myself never gets a chance."
Arm in arm the two departed for the threatened libation to Labar's
promotion. As they stood in the little snuggery of a bar, known to a
select few in one of the alleys off Piccadilly, Moreland paused with
his glass in his hand.
"There's something about you that I can't account for at the minute,
Harry," he said. "There's a smug complacency which makes me feel that
success isn't going to agree with you if--if it isn't due to something
else. Tell me has the wedding day been fixed?"
Labar came as near a blush as his tanned countenance would allow. He
grinned a little shamefacedly. "One or two things to think of first,"
he explained. "For instance there's the question of a best man. If I
could find some fellow who wouldn't let me down by playing the clown I
might be inclined to persuade her--the lady--to settle it as soon as
possible."
"You want a serious-minded, good-looking fellow, a man of distinction
and presence. I am flattered by your offer. If I have no more pressing
engagement on that day I'll be at the ringside. Now I'll pay for one
more drink and we must be on our way."
The two friends parted, for there was much to do on the morrow, and
Labar, at least, felt the need of a night's rest.
He was astir early in the morning, but as he propped the _Daily
Mail_ up by his eggs and bacon he forgot a healthy appetite as his
eyes scanned the page which was practically all devoted to the round-up
and captures of the preceding day. The final column of the "story" was
headed:
TRAGIC DEATH OF MR. SOLLY GERTSTEIN.
Great Financier Dies of Heart Failure on Learning of his Wife's
Arrest.
"A tragic episode was added to this great feat of Scotland Yard on the
receipt of the news in London last night. Some account of the affair
was published in the last editions of the evening papers, and in the
stop press column the name of Mrs. Adèle Gertstein was given in the
list of persons who were detained by the police.
"Late last evening Mr. Gertstein was found by one of his servants
sitting fully dressed in his room with a copy of an evening paper
clutched in his hand. A doctor was summoned but his assistance was of
no avail. Mr. Gertstein was dead...."
There followed a biographical sketch of the dead man's activities, and
some speculation as to what might happen to the fortune he had left.
Labar tossed the paper aside. "Poor old chap," he murmured. He turned
thoughtfully to his breakfast. He was sorry in a way for the fate that
had overtaken the little millionaire, but that was no reason why he
should go hungry. It was a tragedy, of course, but he did not feel any
personal responsibility. In charging Mrs. Gertstein he had acted merely
as an agent of the law. He wondered what Penelope would have to say
about it.
Nothing could alter what had happened. What was the use of worrying. He
finished his breakfast with zest, and pausing on his way out to glance
in a mirror in the hall to assure himself that he was scrupulously
dressed he set off for Grape Street.
Both Marlow, the detective superintendent, and Moreland were already
there, as well as a bunch of the divisional C.I.D. men. The inspector
who had taken charge of the division during Labar's absence, slid out
from his seat at the desk.
"Just about your last day as a divisional detective inspector," smiled
Marlow. "Slip into it, my lad. In an hour and a half you'll have to be
in court."
Labar flung himself on the pile of papers with desperate energy. He
perceived that Moreland had taken many matters of detail into his own
hands, for there were statements, signed by officers under the control
of the latter, among the mass of documents.
Now and then something arose on which he would seek the comment of his
two confrères. Then it would happen that one of the waiting divisional
staff would be despatched on some inquiry or other mission by which a
point might be made clear.
Although so many of the gang had been swept into the meshes of the
net with Larry there still remained--as was inevitable in such a wide
spread organisation--a number of associates whom it was essential to
run down. There was still more work in planning a course of campaign
among those merely suspected to be associates. In one or two cases it
was decided to make arrests with the reasonable certainty that evidence
to justify them would arise at a later stage. Now that Larry's reign
was over the detectives anticipated no difficulty with a class of
informant which had been rather shy while he remained at liberty.
Among those who were to be arrested and definitely charged was Gold
Dust Teddy. Detective Sergeant Down to whom was entrusted the execution
of this mission, received his orders with satisfaction. The absence of
Teddy was likely to make a difference in the statistics of crime.
"That's the lot," said Labar, at last. "We'll be able to use Stebbins
as King's evidence if the Public Prosecutor agrees. Not that the
evidence isn't clear enough without him. I suppose that I'll have to
see him now."
Marlow looked at his watch. "Not till after the court proceedings you
won't. Moreland had a chat with him some time after midnight. All
clear cut on the general matter. Every one will be charged to-day with
stealing and receiving the Gertstein stuff. It's only formal to-day and
other charges can be added at the next hearing."
"There's Mrs. Gertstein. I'm sure she was not in the robbery."
"No," said Moreland. "Do you think that I'm an ass. The case against
her is attempted murder and forgery."
"Plain sailing as far as things go at present," said Marlow. "But Larry
won't go down without a struggle. Take it from me that if there is
anything money can do it will be done. If there is any weakness in the
case it will be pulled to pieces at the Old Bailey."
To this proposition neither of the inspectors deemed it worth while
to reply. Indeed, it was self-evident. It would be doing Labar an
injustice to say that he did not care what happened at the trial.
Theoretically, of course, he should be as impartial as the jury. It
was his business--theoretically--to apprehend rogues on reasonable
suspicion, and to leave the question of their guilt or innocence to the
court.
In actual fact though prepared to present his case with fairness he was
determined to strain every nerve to ensure a conviction. He had covered
every possible point where evidence might be gathered according to his
own abilities, but he was certain that the distinguished counsel who
occupied the post of Public Prosecutor would point out other weaknesses
and ask him to follow up certain lines to strengthen the case. Human
nature is human nature even in the police force.
As Marlow had foreseen the biggest men at the criminal bar had been
retained for the prisoners. But the first hearing at the police court
was purely a formal affair, and Labar betook himself to the Home Office
to consult with the Public Prosecutor, whose cold trained legal brain
had already got a plan of campaign mapped out. The Solicitor-General
was to lead for the prosecution, and every legal resource at the
disposal of the Government was to be put at his disposition.
For only one person did Labar put in a plea for such leniency as could
be afforded. That was Sophie Lengholm.
"H'm." The Public Prosecutor frowned. "She's in the same class as
several of the others. We might tell the judge she saved your life. Is
there anything up against her besides the present case?" He rummaged
among his papers. "I have nothing here."
"I know of no other charge which we have any chance of substantiating,"
declared Labar.
"Then leave it as it is. We'll do what we can."
* * * * *
The weeks passed with long, drawn-out hearings at the police court, and
the preliminary skirmishes of counsel. Almost every other day Labar
found the tangle which he was unravelling lead to the arrest of someone
or the other of the criminals who formed the aristocracy of crookdom in
the metropolis. Even he was surprised at the ramifications of Larry's
interests.
As a receiver on a wholesale scale Larry seemed to have dealt directly
or indirectly with half the rogues in London. As is the way in these
matters one thing led to another. The unearthing of a small receiver
who was in the habit of passing on his biggest loot to Larry Hughes,
would bring about the discovery of a nest of smaller crooks who had
scarcely heard of Larry.
"There'll be no work left for the C.I.D. if things go on like this,"
lamented Winter.
Labar had forgotten about golf although his handicap would be
seriously in danger. There were other things for him, which
circumstances would not allow him to neglect. He was no longer driving
a machine; he was part of a machine and willy-nilly he had to go
forward.
It must not be supposed that he did not have his occasional hours of
leisure. Penelope, however, had a mortgage upon these, and she did not
play golf, although she promised at a later stage to take it up.
"You see you're constitutionally a lazy man, Harry," she explained. "I
can't allow you to have any other interests but your work--and myself.
You'll soon have a wife to support."
"That's a point," he agreed. "But I'm not so sure that I want to marry
you after all. You see----"
She looked at him with perturbed eyes and pouting lips. "If----" she
began.
"I saw poor old Gertstein's solicitors to-day," he interrupted. "They
know how things stand between you and me, and they confided something
to me. It may make a difference."
"How?"
"It's his will. He's left the bulk of his fortune to nephews and other
distant relatives. Mrs. Gertstein is to get two thousand pounds a year,
and a similar sum has been left to you. The will was made a few days
before his death. So in a way you're an heiress, you see. And I'm only
a chief detective inspector getting a few hundreds a year."
She smiled and put her arms round his neck. "That all. Then I'll tell
you what we'll do. As soon as this case is over we'll get married--ever
so quietly--and you shall retire and play golf all day long if you want
to."
"I won't deny the first part of that proposition," he said. "On the
other I'm afraid I can't agree. I'm going on with my job. I'm not going
to live on my wife."
She kissed him. "Do you know that in some ways you're delightfully
early Victorian? But I love you for it. Go on being a policeman until
you are a thousand if you like."
"I'm afraid that they won't stand me that long," he reflected, with
half-whimsical seriousness. "They were finding me out before this case
began. I suppose I am an indolent man. It's a notorious fact. I hate to
be bored. When I joined the service I had funny ideas about detectives,
I thought of the excitement and not of the monotony. Now action stirs
me up. There's not a deal of fun in finding out a man who has pilfered
a hundredweight of coals out of a station yard, nor in sifting and
making out dry official papers day after day. That sends me into a kind
of stupor and my brain will not act. They'll certainly find out that
I'm a four-flusher one of these days."
"I think Mr. Winter knows more about you than you do yourself," she
protested.
"Yes. Winter's a downy bird. He knows that I've got a conscience. It
really used to hurt me to play golf sometimes," he fumbled in his
waistcoat pocket and his face turned a bright scarlet. "Say, dear----"
"Well?"
"Do you know I've forgotten--that is I haven't had time--I mean I meant
to--perhaps you've been wondering--well it comes to this----" He made a
desperate plunge. "The long and short of it is that I've been meaning
to get you a ring and--and----"
Her clear laughter rang through the room. "You've been too lazy to get
it."
"Not exactly that," he protested.
She shook her head reprovingly. "Don't stumble any more. You'll only
get in deeper. Have you any money on you?"
He displayed a well-filled wallet.
"That's all right. Stay right where you are. I'm going to put on my
things, and we're going out now, immediately. You're not going to
escape me, Harry Labar. I'm taking no risks. You buy me an engagement
ring in this next half hour and I'm going to stand over you and see
that you do it."
Thus Labar's betrothal was ratified. In spite of his gibes at himself
he settled down to his new job at Scotland Yard with some prospect of
success, partly because Winter had his eye on him, partly because the
work that came his way was of a congenial type.
The day came when Larry and his friends were brought up for trial at
the Old Bailey. Labar took his stand in the witness box for examination
at the hands of Treasury Counsel. His evidence began with that master
piece of condensation evolved by some long dead and gone police
official, "From evidence received----"
The reader of these pages will know more closely than most of those
who heard the trial how the information was acquired that led to the
imposition of a sentence of twenty years penal servitude upon Larry
Hughes, and terms varying from ten years downwards upon the rest of
his gang. Mrs. Gertstein, a broken woman, was sent to prison for five
years, while Sophie Lengholm, on the plea of counsel for the Crown was
given eighteen months hard labour.
Larry, self-possessed as ever, bowed to the judge with courtesy, and
waved his hand gaily to Labar in the well of the court.
"It's a long time, Labar," he cried. "But one of these times we shall
meet again. Give my love to----"
The warders hustled him out of the dock.
THE END.