Denis Mountjoy was arrested to-night at a music hall in
Watergate Street. A determined attempt was made at a rescue,
and a free fight took place outside the Watergate Street
police station, all the windows of which were broken. With the
arrest of Mountjoy, who will be charged with no less than five
murders, it is hoped that the whole conspiracy of which he was
the head will be broken up. It is known that he has in his
possession the famous minute book of the revolutionary secret
society which bore his name, and numerous other arrests may be
expected at any moment. The chief constable has received a
telephone message of congratulation from Scotland Yard.
* * * * *
I laid down the paper. For the life of me I could not keep back the
question which rose to my lips.
"There was five hundred pounds reward for the arrest of Mountjoy. Are
you claiming it?"
"Blood money," Mr. Thomson confessed, with a queer smile, "is not in my
line."
"It was you who put the police on to Mountjoy?" I persisted.
He made no direct reply. He was stonily thoughtful for a moment.
"I knew," he continued presently, "I believe even the police knew, that
Mountjoy was lying hidden somewhere within a quarter of a mile of
Watergate Street. How to draw him out of his hiding place was the
problem. I remembered his two failings,--vanity, and love of hearing
that beautiful voice of his. I pandered to them."
"You laid a trap on behalf of the police, then?"
Mr. Thomson knocked the ash from his cigar.
"That might be considered the truth," he admitted.
"And the minute book?"
"Concerning the minute book," he replied, "I have nothing to say."
Rose drew her chair a little nearer towards him. The rose-shaded
electric light shone upon her fair hair, her wonderful eyes, her piquant
face with its alluring smile. She leaned forward towards our host, and
it seemed to me that the soft entreaty in her tone and the pleading of
her eyes were irresistible.
"Mr. Thomson," she said, "I am a woman, and I am desperately, insatiably
curious. I must know--please tell me--what are we--you and we three?
Your confederates, I suppose we are? Are we on the side of the police or
the criminal, the informer, or do we come somewhere between? I must
adapt my conscience to our position."
Mr. Thomson was unshaken. He looked at Rose just as though she had been
an ordinary human being.
"That," he said, "may be put in the category of questions which you will
be at liberty to ask me when our agreement comes to an end. Shall we
call it Conundrum Number 1? By the bye, if it is any convenience to you
to know your movements in advance, I may tell you that you will open at
Bath next week."