THE COMING OF MILLS
ON the morning that Elk waited for the arrival of the informer,
elaborate precautions were being made to transfer the man to
headquarters. All night the prison had been surrounded by a cordon of
armed guards, whilst patrols had remained on duty in the yard where he
was confined.
The captured Frog was a well-educated man who had fallen on evil times
and had been recruited when “on the road” through the agency of two
tramping members of the fraternity. From the first statement he made, it
appeared that he had acted as section leader, his duty being to pass on
instructions and “calls” to the rank and file, to report casualties and
to assist in the attacks which were made from time to time upon those
people who had earned the Frog’s enmity. Apparently only section leaders
and trustees were given this type of work.
They brought him from his cell at eleven o’clock, and the man, despite
his assurance, was nervous and apprehensive. Moreover, he had a cold and
was coughing. This may have been a symptom of nerves also.
At eleven-fifteen the gates of the prison were opened, and three
motor-cyclists came out abreast. A closed car followed, the curtains
drawn. On either side of the car rode other armed men on motor-cycles,
and a second car, containing Central Office men, followed.
The cortège reached Scotland Yard without mishap; the gates at both ends
were closed, and the prisoner was rushed into the building.
Balder, Elk’s clerk, and a detective-sergeant, took charge of the man,
who was now white and shaking, and he was put into a small room
adjoining Elk’s office, a room the windows of which were heavily barred
(it had been used for the safe holding of spies during the war). Two men
were put on duty outside the door, and the discontented Balder reported.
“We’ve put that fellow in the waiting-room, Mr. Elk.”
“Did he say anything?” asked Dick, who had arrived for the
interrogation.
“No, sir—except to ask if the window could be shut. I shut it.”
“Bring the prisoner,” said Elk.
They waited a while, heard the clash of keys, and then an excited buzz
of talk. Then Balder rushed in.
“He’s ill . . . fainted or something,” he gasped, and Elk sprang past
him, along the corridor into the guard-room.
Mills half sat, half lay, against the wall. His eyes were closed, his
face was ashen.
Dick bent over the prisoner and laid him flat on the ground. Then he
stooped and smelt.
“Cyanide of potassium,” he said. “The man is dead.”
That morning Mills had been stripped to the skin and every article of
clothing searched thoroughly and well. As an additional precaution his
pockets had been sewn up. To the two detectives who accompanied him in
the car he had spoken hopefully of his forthcoming departure to Canada.
None but police officers had touched him, and he had had no
communication with any outsider.
The first thing that Dick Gordon noticed was the window, which Balder
said he had shut. It was open some six inches at the bottom.
“Yes, sir, I’m sure I shut it,” said the clerk emphatically. “Sergeant
Jeller saw me.”
The sergeant was also under that impression. Dick lifted the window
higher and looked out. Four horizontal bars traversed the brickwork,
but, by craning his head, he saw that, a foot away from the window and
attached to the wall, was a long steel ladder running from the roof (as
he guessed) to the ground. The room was on the third floor, and beneath
was a patch of shrub-filled gardens. Beyond that, high railings.
“What are those gardens?” he asked, pointing to the space on the other
side of the railings.
“They belong to Onslow Gardens,” said Elk.
“Onslow Gardens?” said Dick thoughtfully. “Wasn’t it from Onslow Gardens
that the Frogs tried to shoot me?”
Elk shook his head helplessly.
“What do you suggest. Captain Gordon?”
“I don’t know what to suggest,” admitted Dick. “It doesn’t seem an
intelligent theory that somebody climbed the ladder and handed poison to
Mills—less acceptable, that he would be willing to take the dose. There
is the fact. Balder swears that the window was shut, and now the window
is open. You can trust Balder?”
Elk nodded.
The divisional surgeon came soon after, and, as Dick had expected,
pronounced life extinct, and supported the view that cyanide was the
cause.
“Cyanide has a peculiar odour,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any
doubt at all that the man was killed, either by poison administered from
outside, or by poison taken voluntarily by himself.”
After the body had been removed. Elk accompanied Dick Gordon to his
Whitehall office.
“I have never been frightened in my life,” said Elk, “but these Frogs
are now on top of me! Here is a man killed practically under our eyes!
He was guarded, he was never let out of our sight, except for the few
minutes he was in that room, and yet the Frog can reach him—it’s
frightening, Captain Gordon.”
Dick unlocked the door of his office and ushered Elk into the cosy
interior.
“I know of no better cure for shaken nerves than a _Cabana Cesare_,” he
said cheerfully. “And without desiring to indulge in a boastful gesture,
I can only tell you, Elk, that they don’t frighten me, any more than
they frighten you. Frog is human, and has very human fears. Where is
friend Broad?”
“The American?”
Dick nodded, and Elk, without a second’s hesitation, pulled the
telephone toward him and gave a number.
After a little delay, Broad’s voice answered him.
“That you, Mr. Broad? What are you doing now?” asked Elk, in that
caressing tone he adopted for telephone conversation.
“Is that Elk? I’m just going out.”
“Thought I saw you in Whitehall about five minutes ago,” said Elk.
“Then you must have seen my double,” replied the other, “for I haven’t
been out of my bath ten minutes. Do you want me?”
“No, no,” cooed Elk. “Just wanted to know you were all right.”
“Why, is anything wrong?” came the sharp question.
“Everything’s fine,” said Elk untruthfully. “Perhaps you’ll call round
and see me at my office one of these days—good-bye!”
He pushed the telephone back, and raising his eyes to the ceiling, made
a quick calculation.
“From Whitehall to Cavendish Square takes four minutes in a good car,”
he said. “So his being in the flat means nothing.”
He pulled the telephone toward him again, and this time called
Headquarters.
“I want a man to shadow Mr. Joshua Broad, of Caverley House; not to
leave him until eight o’clock to-night; to report to me.”
When he had finished, he sat back in his chair and lit the long cigar
that Dick had pressed upon him.
“To-day is Tuesday,” he ruminated, “to-morrow’s Wednesday. Where do you
propose to listen in, Captain Gordon?
“At the Admiralty,” said Dick. “I have arranged with the First Lord to
be in the instrument room at a quarter to three.”
He bought the early editions of the evening newspapers, and was relieved
to find that no reference had been made to the murder—as murder he
believed it to be. Once, in the course of the day, looking out from his
window on to Whitehall, he saw Elk walking along on the other side of
the road, his umbrella hanging on his arm, his ancient derby hat at the
back of his head, an untidy and unimposing figure. Then, an hour later,
he saw him again, coming from the opposite direction. He wondered what
particular business the detective was engaged in. He learnt, quite by
accident, that Elk had made two visits to the Admiralty that day, but he
did not discover the reason until they met later in the evening.
“Don’t know much about wireless,” said Elk, “though I’m not one of those
people who believe that, if God had intended us to use wireless,
telegraph poles would have been born without wires. But it seems to me
that I remember reading something about ‘directional.’ If you want to
know where a wireless message is coming from, you listen in at two or
three different points——”
“Of course! What a fool I am!” said Dick, annoyed with himself. “It
never occurred to me that we might pick up the broadcasting station.”
“I get these ideas,” explained Elk modestly. “The Admiralty have sent
messages to Milford Haven, Harwich, Portsmouth and Plymouth, telling
ships to listen in and give us the direction. The evening papers haven’t
got that story.”
“You mean about Mills? No, thank heaven! It is certain to come out at
the inquest, but I’ve arranged for that to be postponed for a week or
two; and somehow I feel that within the next few weeks things will
happen.”
“To us,” said Elk ominously. “I dare not eat a grilled sausage since
that fellow was killed! And I’m partial to sausages.”