THE INQUIRY
HE intended making an early call at King’s Cross to examine the contents
of the bag, but awoke the next morning, his mind filled with the coming
inquiry to the exclusion of all other matters; and although he entered
Johnson’s burglary in his report book very carefully, and locked away
the cloak-room ticket in his safe, he was much too absorbed and worried
to make immediate inquiries.
Dick arrived for the inquiry, and his assistant gave him a brief sketch
of the burglary in Fitzroy Square.
“Let me see that ticket,” he asked.
Elk, unlocking the safe, produced the green slip.
“The ticket has been attached to something,” said Dick, carrying the
slip to the window. “There is the mark of a paper-fastener, and the mark
is recent. This may produce a little information,” he said as he handed
it back.
“It’s very unlikely,” said Elk despondently as he locked the door of the
safe. “Those people upstairs are going to give us hell.”
“Don’t worry,” said Dick. “I tell you, our friends above are so tickled
to death at recovering the Treaty that they’re not going to worry much
about Hagn.”
It was a remarkable prophecy, remarkably fulfilled. Elk was gratified
and surprised when he was called into the presence of the great—every
Commissioner and Chief Constable sat round the green board of
judgment—to discover that the attitude of his superiors was rather one
of benevolent interest than of disapproval.
“With an organization of this character we are prepared for very
unexpected developments,” said the Chief Commissioner. “In ordinary
circumstances, the escape of Hagn would be a matter calling for severe
measures against those responsible. But I really cannot apportion the
blame in this particular case. Balder seems to have behaved with perfect
propriety; I quite approve of your having put him into the cell with
Hagn; and I do not see what I can do with the gaoler. The truth is, that
the Frogs are immensely powerful—more powerful than the agents of an
enemy Government, because they are working with inside knowledge, and in
addition, of course, they are our own people. You think it is possible,
Captain Gordon, to round up the Frogs?—I know it will be a tremendous
business. Is it worth while?”
Dick shook his head.
“No, sir,” he replied. “They are too numerous, and the really dangerous
men are going to be difficult to identify. It has come to our knowledge
that the chiefs of this organization—at least, some of them—are not so
marked.”
Not all the members of the Board of Inquiry were as pleasant as the
Chief Commissioner.
“It comes to this,” said a white-haired Chief Constable, “that in the
space of a week we have had two prisoners killed under the eyes of the
police, and one who has practically walked out of the cell in which he
was guarded by a police officer, without being arrested or any clue
being furnished as to the method the Frogs employed.” He shook his head.
“That’s bad, Captain Gordon.”
“Perhaps you would like to take charge of the inquiry, sir,” said Dick.
“This is not the ordinary petty larceny type of crime, and I seem to
remember having dealt with a case of yours whilst I was in the
Prosecutor’s Department, presenting less complicated features, in which
you were no more successful than I and my officers have been in dealing
with the Frogs. You must allow me the greatest latitude and exercise
patience beyond the ordinary. I know the Frog,” he said simply.
For some time they did not realize what he had said.
“You know him?” asked the Chief Commissioner incredulously.
Dick nodded.
“If I were to tell you who it was,” he said, “you would probably laugh
at me. And obviously, whilst it is quite possible for me to secure an
arrest this morning, it is not as easy a matter to produce overwhelming
evidence that will convict. You must give me rope if I am to succeed.”
“But how did you discover him, Captain Gordon?” asked the Chief, and
Elk, who had listened, dumbfounded, to this claim of his superior,
waited breathlessly for the reply.
“It was clear to me,” said Dick, speaking slowly and deliberately, “when
I learnt from Mr. Johnson, who was Maitland’s secretary, that somewhere
concealed in the old man’s house was a mysterious child.” He smiled as
he looked at the blank faces of the Board. “That doesn’t sound very
convincing, I’m afraid,” he said, “but nevertheless, you will learn in
due course why, when I discovered this, I was perfectly satisfied that I
could take the Frog whenever I wished. It is not necessary to say that,
knowing as I do, or as I am convinced I do, the identity of this
individual, events from now on will take a more interesting and a more
satisfactory course. I do not profess to be able to explain how Hagn
came to make his escape. I have a suspicion—it is no more than a
suspicion—but even that event is soluble if my other theory is right,
as I am sure it is.”
Until the meeting was over and the two men were again in Elk’s office,
the detective spoke no word. Then, closing the door carefully, he said:
“If that was a bluff of yours, Captain Gordon, it was the finest bluff I
have ever heard, and I’ve an idea it wasn’t a bluff.”
“It was no bluff,” said Dick quietly. “I tell you I am satisfied that I
know the Frog.”
“Who is it?”
Dick shook his head.
“This isn’t the time to tell you. I don’t think any useful purpose would
be served if I made my views known—even to you. Now what about your
cloak-room ticket?”
Dick did not accompany him to King’s Cross, for he had some work to do
in his office, and Elk went alone to the cloak-room. Producing the
ticket, he paid the extra fees for the additional period of storage, and
received from the attendant a locked brown leather bag.
“Now, son,” said Elk, having revealed his identity, “perhaps you will
tell me if you remember who brought this bag?”
The attendant grinned.
“I haven’t that kind of memory,” he said.
“I sympathize with you,” said Elk, “but possibly if you concentrated
your mind, you might be able to recall something. Faces aren’t dates.”
The attendant turned over the leaves of his book to make sure.
“Yes, I was on duty that day.”
“What time was it handed in?”
He examined the counterfoils.
“About eleven o’clock in the morning,” he said. He shook his head. “I
can’t remember who brought it. We get so much luggage entered at that
time in the morning that it’s almost impossible for me to recall any
particular person. I know one thing, that there wasn’t anything peculiar
about him, or I should have remembered.”
“You mean that the person who handed this in was very ordinary. Was he
an American?”
Again the attendant thought.
“No, I don’t think he was an American, sir,” he said. “I should have
remembered that. I don’t think we have had an American here for weeks.”
Elk took the bag to the office of the station police inspector, and with
the aid of his key unlocked and pulled it wide open. Its contents were
unusual. A suit of clothes, a shirt, collar and tie, a brand-new shaving
outfit, a small bottle of Annatto, a colouring material used by
dairymen, a passport made out in the name of “John Henry Smith,” but
with the photograph missing, a Browning pistol, fully loaded, an
envelope containing 5,000 francs and five one-hundred-dollar bills;
these comprised the contents.
Elk surveyed the articles as they were spread on the inspector’s table.
“What do you make of that?”
The railwayman shook his head.
“It’s a fairly complete outfit,” he said.
“You mean a get-away outfit? That’s what I think,” said Elk; “and I’d
like to bet that one of these bags is stored at every railway terminus
in London!”
The clothing bore no marks, the Browning was of Belgian manufacture,
whilst the passport might, or might not, have been forged, though the
blank on which it was written was obviously genuine. (A later inquiry
put through to the Foreign Office revealed the fact that it had not been
officially issued.)
Elk packed away the outfit into the bag.
“I shall take these to the Yard. Perhaps they’ll be called for—but more
likely they won’t.”
Elk came out of the Inspector’s office on to the broad platform,
wondering what it would be best to do. Should he leave the bag in the
cloak-room and set a man to watch? . . . That would be a little futile,
for nobody could call unless he had the ticket, and it would mean
employing a good officer for nothing. He decided in the end to take the
bag to the Yard and hand it over for a more thorough inspection.
One of the Northern expresses had just pulled into the station, two
hours late, due to a breakdown on the line. Elk stood looking idly at
the stream of passengers passing out through the barrier, and, so
watching, he saw a familiar face. His mind being occupied with this, the
familiarity did not force itself upon his attention until the man he had
recognized had passed out of view. It was John Bennett—a furtive,
hurrying figure, with his battered suit-case in his hand, a dark felt
hat pulled over his eyes.
Elk strolled across to the barrier where a station official was
standing.
“Where does this train come from?”
“Aberdeen, sir.”
“Last stop?” asked Elk.
“Last stop Doncaster,” said the official.
Whilst he was speaking, Elk saw Bennett returning. Apparently he had
forgotten something, for there was a frown of annoyance on his face. He
pushed his way through the stream of people that were coming from the
barriers, and Elk wondered what was the cause of his return. He had not
long to wait before he learnt.
When Bennett appeared again, he was carrying a heavy brown box, fastened
with a strap, and Elk recognized the motion picture camera with which
this strange man pursued his paying hobby.
“Queer bird!” said Elk to himself and, calling a cab, carried his find
back to headquarters.
He put the bag in his safe, and sent for two of his best men.
“I want the cloak-rooms of every London terminus inspected for bags of
this kind,” he said, showing the bag. “It has probably been left for
weeks. Push the usual inquiries as to the party who made the deposit,
select all likely bags, and, to make sure, have them opened on the spot.
If they contained a complete shaving kit, a gun, a passport and money,
they are to be brought to Scotland Yard and held for me.”
Gordon, whom he afterwards saw, agreed with his explanation for the
presence of this interesting find.
“At any hour of the day or night he’s ready to jump for safety,” said
Elk admiringly; “and at any terminus we shall find money, a change of
kit and the necessary passport to carry him abroad, Annatto to stain his
face and hands—I expect he carries his own photograph. And by the way,
I saw John Bennett.”
“At the station?” asked Dick.
Elk nodded.
“He was returning from the north, from one of five towns—Aberdeen,
Arbroath, Edinburgh, York or Doncaster. He didn’t see me, and I didn’t
push myself forward. Captain, what do you think of this man Bennett?”
Dick did not reply.
“Is he your Frog?” challenged Elk, and Dick Gordon chuckled.
“You’re not going to get my Frog by a process of elimination. Elk, and
you can save yourself a whole lot of trouble if you cut out the idea
that cross-examining me will produce good results.”
“I never thought anything so silly,” said Elk. “But John Bennett gets me
guessing. If he were the Frog, he couldn’t have been in Johnson’s
sitting-room last night.”
“Not unless he motored to Doncaster to catch an alibi train,” said Dick,
and then: “I wonder if the Doncaster police are going to call in
headquarters, or whether they’ll rely upon their own intelligence
department.”
“About what?” asked Elk surprised.
“Mabberley Hall, which is just outside Doncaster, was burgled last
night,” said Dick, “and Lady FitzHerman’s diamond tiara was
stolen—rather supports your theory, doesn’t it, Elk?”
Elk said nothing, but he wished most fervently that he had some excuse
or other for searching John Bennett’s bag.