THE QUARRY DOUBLES
I turned towards the booking-office on the main departure platform. As
I went, the chief platform inspector, George Bellingham, with whom I
had some acquaintance, came out of his office. I stopped him.
‘Mr Bellingham, will you be so good as to step with me to the
booking-office, and instruct the clerk in charge to answer one or two
questions which I wish to put to him. I will explain to you afterwards
what is their exact import, but you know me sufficiently to be able to
believe me when I say that they refer to a matter in which every moment
is of the first importance.’
He turned and accompanied us into the interior of the booking-case.
‘To which of the clerks, Mr Champnell, do you wish to put your
questions?’
‘To the one who issues third-class tickets to Southampton.’
Bellingham beckoned to a man who was counting a heap of money, and
apparently seeking to make it tally with the entries in a huge ledger
which lay open before him,--he was a short, slightly-built young
fellow, with a pleasant face and smiling eyes.
‘Mr Stone, this gentleman wishes to ask you one or two questions.’
‘I am at his service.’
I put my questions.
‘I want to know, Mr Stone, if, in the course of the day, you have
issued any tickets to a person dressed in Arab costume?’
His reply was prompt.
‘I have--by the last train, the 7.25,--three singles.’
Three singles! Then my instinct had told me rightly.
‘Can you describe the person?’
Mr Stone’s eyes twinkled.
‘I don’t know that I can, except in a general way,--he was uncommonly
old and uncommonly ugly, and he had a pair of the most extraordinary
eyes I ever saw,--they gave me a sort of all-overish feeling when I saw
them glaring at me through the pigeon hole. But I can tell you one
thing about him, he had a great bundle on his head, which he steadied
with one hand, and as it bulged out in all directions its presence
didn’t make him popular with other people who wanted tickets too.’
Undoubtedly this was our man.
‘You are sure he asked for three tickets?’
‘Certain. He said three tickets to Southampton; laid down the exact
fare,--nineteen and six--and held up three fingers--like that. Three
nasty looking fingers they were, with nails as long as talons.’
‘You didn’t see who were his companions?’
‘I didn’t,--I didn’t try to look. I gave him his tickets and off he
went,--with the people grumbling at him because that bundle of his kept
getting in their way.’
Bellingham touched me on the arm.
‘I can tell you about the Arab of whom Mr Stone speaks. My attention
was called to him by his insisting on taking his bundle with him into
the carriage,--it was an enormous thing, he could hardly squeeze it
through the door; it occupied the entire seat. But as there weren’t as
many passengers as usual, and he wouldn’t or couldn’t be made to
understand that his precious bundle would be safe in the luggage van
along with the rest of the luggage, and as he wasn’t the sort of person
you could argue with to any advantage, I had him put into an empty
compartment, bundle and all.’
‘Was he alone then?’
‘I thought so at the time, he said nothing about having more than one
ticket, or any companions, but just before the train started two other
men--English men--got into his compartment; and as I came down the
platform, the ticket inspector at the barrier informed me that these
two men were with him, because he held tickets for the three, which, as
he was a foreigner, and they seemed English, struck the inspector as
odd.’
‘Could you describe the two men?’
‘I couldn’t, not particularly, but the man who had charge of the
barrier might. I was at the other end of the train when they got in.
All I noticed was that one seemed to be a commonplace looking
individual and that the other was dressed like a tramp, all rags and
tatters, a disreputable looking object he appeared to be.’
‘That,’ I said to myself, ‘was Miss Marjorie Lindon, the lovely
daughter of a famous house; the wife-elect of a coming statesman.’
To Bellingham I remarked aloud:
‘I want you to strain a point, Mr Bellingham, and to do me a service
which I assure you you shall never have any cause to regret. I want you
to wire instructions down the line to detain this Arab and his
companions and to keep them in custody until the receipt of further
instructions. They are not wanted by the police as yet, but they will
be as soon as I am able to give certain information to the authorities
at Scotland Yard,--and wanted very badly. But, as you will perceive for
yourself, until I am able to give that information every moment is
important.--Where’s the Station Superintendent?’
‘He’s gone. At present I’m in charge.’
‘Then will you do this for me? I repeat that you shall never have any
reason to regret it.’
‘I will if you’ll accept all responsibility.’
‘I’ll do that with the greatest pleasure.’
Bellingham looked at his watch.
‘It’s about twenty minutes to nine. The train’s scheduled for
Basingstoke at 9.6. If we wire to Basingstoke at once they ought to be
ready for them when they come.’
‘Good!’
The wire was sent.
We were shown into Bellingham’s office to await results. Lessingham
paced agitatedly to and fro; he seemed to have reached the limits of
his self-control, and to be in a condition in which movement of some
sort was an absolute necessity. The mercurial Sydney, on the contrary,
leaned back in a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his
hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, and stared at Lessingham,
as if he found relief to his feelings in watching his companion’s
restlessness. I, for my part, drew up as full a précis of the case as I
deemed advisable, and as time permitted, which I despatched by one of
the company’s police to Scotland Yard.
Then I turned to my associates.
‘Now, gentlemen, it’s past dinner time. We may have a journey in front
of us. If you take my advice you’ll have something to eat.’
Lessingham shook his head.
‘I want nothing.’
‘Nor I,’ echoed Sydney.
I started up.
‘You must pardon my saying nonsense, but surely you of all men, Mr
Lessingham, should be aware that you will not improve the situation by
rendering yourself incapable of seeing it through. Come and dine.’
I haled them off with me, willy nilly, to the refreshment room. I
dined,--after a fashion; Mr Lessingham swallowed with difficulty, a
plate of soup; Sydney nibbled at a plate of the most unpromising
looking ‘chicken and ham,’--he proved, indeed, more intractable than
Lessingham, and was not to be persuaded to tackle anything easier of
digestion.
I was just about to take cheese after chop when Bellingham came
hastening in, in his hand an open telegram.
‘The birds have flown,’ he cried.
‘Flown!--How?’
In reply he gave me the telegram. I glanced at it. It ran:
‘Persons described not in the train. Guard says they got out at
Vauxhall. Have wired Vauxhall to advise you.’
‘That’s a level-headed chap,’ said Bellingham. ‘The man who sent that
telegram. His wiring to Vauxhall should save us a lot of time,--we
ought to hear from there directly. Hollo! what’s this? I shouldn’t be
surprised if this is it.’
As he spoke a porter entered,--he handed an envelope to Bellingham. We
all three kept our eyes fixed on the inspector’s face as he opened it.
When he perceived the contents he gave an exclamation of surprise.
‘This Arab of yours, and his two friends, seem rather a curious lot, Mr
Champnell.’
He passed the paper on to me. It took the form of a report. Lessingham
and Sydney, regardless of forms and ceremonies, leaned over my shoulder
as I read it.
‘Passengers by 7.30 Southampton, on arrival of train, complained of
noises coming from a compartment in coach 8964. Stated that there had
been shrieks and yells ever since the train left Waterloo, as if
someone was being murdered. An Arab and two Englishmen got out of the
compartment in question, apparently the party referred to in wire just
to hand from Basingstoke. All three declared that there was nothing the
matter. That they had been shouting for fun. Arab gave up three third
singles for Southampton, saying, in reply to questions, that they had
changed their minds, and did not want to go any farther. As there were
no signs of a struggle or of violence, nor, apparently, any definite
cause for detention, they were allowed to pass. They took a
four-wheeler, No. 09435. The Arab and one man went inside, and the
other man on the box. They asked to be driven to Commercial Road,
Limehouse. The cab has since returned. Driver says he put the three men
down, at their request, in Commercial Road, at the corner of Sutcliffe
Street, near the East India Docks. They walked up Sutcliffe Street, the
Englishmen in front, and the Arab behind, took the first turning to the
right, and after that he saw nothing of them. The driver further states
that all the way the Englishman inside, who was so ragged and dirty
that he was reluctant to carry him, kept up a sort of wailing noise
which so attracted his attention that he twice got off his box to see
what was the matter, and each time he said it was nothing. The cabman
is of opinion that both the Englishmen were of weak intellect. We were
of the same impression here. They said nothing, except at the seeming
instigation of the Arab, but when spoken to stared and gaped like
lunatics.
‘It may be mentioned that the Arab had with him an enormous bundle,
which he persisted, in spite of all remonstrances, on taking with him
inside the cab.’
As soon as I had mastered the contents of the report, and perceived
what I believed to be--unknown to the writer himself--its hideous inner
meaning, I turned to Bellingham.
‘With your permission, Mr Bellingham, I will keep this
communication,--it will be safe in my hands, you will be able to get a
copy, and it may be necessary that I should have the original to show
to the police. If any inquiries are made for me from Scotland Yard,
tell them that I have gone to the Commercial Road, and that I will
report my movements from Limehouse Police Station.’
In another minute we were once more traversing the streets of
London,--three in a hansom cab.