THE KIDNAPPING OF THE PRIME MINISTER
“Out of evil cometh good.” Had Westerham caught the eye of Kathleen
as the two motor cars passed each other at the corner of Whitehall
Kathleen herself would have been spared much suffering and several men
would not have gone to their account. But a meeting at that moment
would have so changed the whole course of events that far greater
trouble would have befallen, and the whole earth might have become
involved in a disaster which would have grown, without question, into
Armageddon.
It was, however, in happy ignorance of both the greater and the lesser
evil that Westerham, in what were really most excellent spirits, drew
up the car which he had borrowed from Dunton at No. 10 Downing Street.
With him came Mendip, the younger of the two men whom he had met
in such curious circumstances at the gaming club on the night when
Kathleen had staked her father's honour against the bank and, for the
time, lost.
Mendip was one of those strange, tired men who appear to do nothing and
yet accomplish much. He was slow of speech, but quick in action when
occasion demanded; silent, serious, and of a character built to bear
with resolution any temptation or trial which might arise.
Dunton trusted him implicitly, and, in spite of his short acquaintance
with him, Westerham trusted him too.
A third person had been necessary for the enterprise, and had been
found in the person of Tom Lowther, a good-natured young giant, who
laughed his way through what, to him, was a laughing world.
It was with an immense grin of satisfaction that he had taken on his
shoulders the task of driving the car in which Westerham set out on his
desperate enterprise.
Dunton had left his chambers early in the morning, so that about eleven
o'clock all the men who had been selected to drag the Premier's secret
from him had gathered in Dunton's rooms.
There, half humorously, Westerham had explained the project to them,
basing his argument upon a lesson drawn from an abortive raid which
certain suffragettes had made upon the official residence not long
before.
What woman could attempt, he had argued, man could decidedly accomplish.
So the plan was mapped out; and according to the arrangements which
Westerham made, Lowther backed the car round in Downing Street and drew
it up alongside the curb, so that its head pointed towards Whitehall,
and, as Westerham hoped, the high road of escape.
It was astonishing that, in spite of the suffragettes' attempt on
Downing Street, more precautions were not taken. For all he knew,
Westerham might have had to encounter worse opposition than he did. But
he was prepared for all emergencies, and, moreover, determined not to
spare drastic measures if it came to a tight corner.
As he drew up to the door, Westerham hoped that the immaculate Dunton
might play his part as well as he intended to play his own. Dunton had
gone down to Chichester, and had ordered his yacht to await him in the
fair way off Selsey Bill.
It was to Dunton's yacht that Westerham determined to take the Premier.
As the car came to a standstill, Westerham and Mendip alighted quickly,
and without hesitation pulled the little brass knob at No. 10. As they
expected, the door was pulled open quickly, and the head, followed by
the figure, of the Premier's official door-keeper appeared in the entry.
Westerham was first up the steps, with Mendip hard at his heels.
He pushed the man aside, and had slammed the door to in the twinkling
of an eye. He thrust the man back into the deep, cane-hooded chair in
which he was wont to sit and dream away his official hours, and had him
gagged before he had time to cry out. Then, by means of the straps with
which he had provided himself, he and Mendip securely lashed the man's
feet together, tying his hands behind his back.
This work done, they paused and listened; but, in spite of the scuffle
there had been, there was no sound of approaching footsteps, nor,
indeed, any sign that they had been overheard.
Without a word, Westerham grasped the man by the shoulders, and Mendip
took him by the heels; and so they carried him through the red-baize
swing-doors which formed the entrance to the passage leading to the
council chamber.
There, with no ceremony at all, they dropped him on the ground, and ran
quickly down the corridor.
At the bottom of this there stood a door, which opened easily as
Westerham turned the handle.
They then found themselves in a somewhat ellipse-shaped vestibule,
which, as a matter of fact, was the outer lobby of the room where the
Cabinet Council was being held.
That the door of the council chamber would be locked Westerham knew
full well; but he had come prepared to overcome any difficulty of this
kind.
Nevertheless, he turned the handle, only to find, as he had expected,
that the key on the inner side had been turned.
When in America, Westerham had found it necessary to force more than
one door; and now he pursued the tactics which he had found efficacious
on previous occasions.
Swiftly he drew his own revolver from his hip-pocket and held out his
other hand for Mendip's. Mendip, with his eyes beaming, passed his own
weapon to Westerham without a word.
He then placed the noses of both the six-shooters on the woodwork just
above the lock, pointing them downwards so that no damage might be done
to the ministers within. He pulled the triggers simultaneously, and the
sound of splintered woodwork and riven iron followed instantaneously on
the double report.
The door all about the lock was shattered into matchwood, and
Westerham, thrusting his foot forward, pushed it open.
Mendip sprang back in fear lest his face should be recognised by any of
the startled ministers, while Westerham strode calmly into the room.
The Cabinet Council was in full session about a long oval table.
The Premier, who sat opposite the door, had risen from his seat, and
with a white face was staring directly into Westerham's eyes.
The other ministers had thrust back their chairs, and were now upon
their feet. There was complete silence.
Westerham had not the slightest fear of any of them being armed, and
without a pause walked over to the table and knocked sharply with the
butt of his revolver on the polished wood.
“Lord Penshurst,” he said quietly, “I wish to speak to you.”
The Prime Minister's jaw opened and closed spasmodically, so that his
white beard wagged upon his breast. He made no answer.
Silently the other ministers drew aside into two groups, leaving
Westerham and the Premier facing each other in the centre of the room.
With an effort, Lord Penshurst got the better of his agitated nerves
and rapped out a sharp “What do you want?”
“Lord Penshurst,” said Westerham, calmly, “you know who I am. You
know on what mission I am here. If you refuse to come round the table
to speak to me instantly and speak to me alone I cannot be held
responsible for the consequences.”
The Premier, without a word and with trailing steps began to make the
circuit of the long table. As he approached, Westerham drew back so
that now he was at the entrance to the council chamber. He beckoned
Lord Penshurst still nearer.
When the Premier was quite close to him he stooped and whispered into
his ear so that none of the other ministers could by any chance catch
his words.
“If you want to save Lady Kathleen and yourself, you must come with me
at once.”
Lord Penshurst said, “It's impossible!”
“Don't argue,” urged Westerham, almost roughly. “I regret to treat you
with so much disrespect, but the crisis for which you have been waiting
has now come. If you lose, you know what it will mean. But you need not
lose if you will follow me now.”
During this conversation the startled ministers had drawn together, and
there was considerable outcry as Lord Penshurst turned to look at them
with a white face.
“Be quick,” said Westerham; “you must keep them quiet for about five
minutes. Five minutes will do, but we must have that start. Don't fail,
everything depends upon it.”
“Gentlemen,” said the Premier, slowly and painfully, as a man speaking
in a dream; “gentlemen, I must apologise for this interruption, but
I assure you that the fault must not be laid at the door of this
gentleman, but at mine. In five minutes I will return. In the meantime
I have to discuss more important business than any which could detain
me here.”
The ministers looked at each other, utterly aghast. It was fortunate
that Westerham's entry had been so swift and so volcanic that they
were still partially dazed. Otherwise it might have been necessary for
Westerham to take steps entailing consequences which no influence,
however great, could possibly have averted.
As it was, they gazed at the Premier and the tall form of Westerham,
sullenly and stupidly.
One of them, a younger man than the rest, suddenly remembered and cried
out: “By George, it is the man who saved us all at the dance!”
The other ministers looked at their colleague, with inquiry; but it was
an inquiry as to the meaning of the stranger's presence, and not as to
his exclamation. For the raid on Trant Hall was now a matter of public
knowledge and consuming public interest.
Doubtless, but for the unimpeachable reputation of the Premier, some
of them would have cried out that this was a traitorous piece of work.
But in spite of all the appearances against him, Lord Penshurst's
colleagues were silent on this point.
Seeing that the Premier had practically given his consent, Westerham
grasped him by the arm and at a rapid rate half dragged him down the
corridor.
As they passed the bound and gagged porter, who looked up with
wondering and bewildered eyes at his master as he was dragged past him,
the Premier could not refrain from uttering a little cry.
“Never mind the man,” said Westerham in his ear, and hurried him on.
He left him standing by the red-baize door for a moment as he dashed
back to turn the key in the lock of the inner vestibule. But before the
Premier had an opportunity of protesting against this, Westerham was
back at his side and hastening him across the hall.
In the hall Westerham looked rapidly about him. It struck him that
the appearance of the Prime Minister being rushed hatless across the
pavement to the motor-car might arouse curiosity on the part of the
policeman who was slouching up and down along the pavement.
He saw Lord Penshurst's hat, snatched it up, jammed it on the Premier's
head, and then, again stifling every protest on the part of the old man
by curtly ordering him to be silent, ran him down the steps and across
the pavement to the car.
By a miracle the policeman's back was, for the moment, turned to
No. 10, so that it was without the slightest let or hindrance that
Westerham and Mendip bundled the Premier into the car and that Lowther
started the motor on its long journey.
So swift and overwhelming had been Westerham's attack that the aged
Premier was still too overcome to demand any explanation or to ask any
questions. He leant back against the upholstery, looking crushed and
frail, so frail that Westerham's heart smote him for the violence that
he had been forced to use. But he nerved himself to carry the thing
through, comforting himself with the reflection that what he did must
prove the salvation of Kathleen.
The car which Lowther drove was a hired one, but he was an expert
driver, and made good speed down Victoria Street to the Buckingham
Palace Road and over the Albert Bridge. In less than fifteen minutes he
had reached Battersea Park.
Here he pulled up in a quiet spot and Westerham, opening the door of
the motor-car, turned to Lord Penshurst.
“I'm sorry,” he said, “that I am obliged to ask you to walk, but you
see, although it is no more than a quarter of an hour since we left
Downing Street, the whole of London and Scotland Yard will by this time
be searching for you in all directions. And if there is to be any hope
of my being able to help you out of your difficulties, you must not be
recognised.”
The Premier mumbled in his beard, but was still too dazed to make any
resistance. He followed Westerham out of the car, and suffered Mendip
to take his arm.
A fourth man had been idling by the side of the path when the car was
brought to a standstill. This was a friend of Lowther's, who had been
pledged to secrecy. He had further promised to take the car back to the
garage, and, if necessary, to swear that it had been handed over to him
by Lowther on the Barnet Road.
Westerham's subtle mind indeed had thought out arrangements which
practically precluded the possibility of their track being picked up
and followed with success; though naturally the chances of escape were
very strong against him, for, if ever the police had worked, they would
of a surety work now.
Westerham led the way through the bushes to another roadway, on which
was waiting a second car, driven by a second friend of Lowther's on
whom reliance could be placed.
Westerham bundled Mendip and Lord Penshurst into it, while Lowther
climbed up beside his friend. They lost no time, but drove boldly and
rapidly back along the same route by which they had come until they
arrived at Victoria.
There Lowther gave his friend instructions to make for Buckingham
Palace. Thence they raced up Constitution Hill into Piccadilly.
Lowther had rooms in Stratton Street, which was immensely in favour
of Westerham's hopes, inasmuch as few pedestrians and fewer vehicles
frequented that aristocratic _cul-de-sac_.
The street when they drew up was fortunately quite deserted, and
Westerham's plans were further aided by the lucky fact that Lowther's
apartments were on the ground floor. Lowther had given them free use of
his rooms, and as the Premier was hastily conducted into them he nodded
to Westerham in intimation that his part of the business was nearly
done.
He went out into the street again, and mounting the car drove away. It
had been arranged that he should make for Salisbury in case he, too,
was followed, and he had immediately agreed to the proposal, tiresome
though it was.
Mendip did not enter the house, but walked rapidly into Piccadilly, and
turning westward, made for the Automobile Club. There his low-built,
yellow-painted racing motor-car was waiting for him, and, as he had
often done, he took it over from the charge of his man, and, making a
detour by way of Curzon Street and Piccadilly, got back to Stratton
Street just as Westerham was ready for him.
In the interval the Premier had somewhat recovered from the dazed state
into which he had been thrown, and indignantly demanded of Westerham
the meaning of all his manœuvres.
“If you will be good enough to sit down for a few minutes, Lord
Penshurst,” Westerham said, “I think I shall be able to make matters a
little clearer than they are at present.
“As I told you at Trant, I have no notion what hold Melun has over
you. I can only see that it must be a hard and a very heavy one.
You declined to believe that I was in reality Sir Paul Westerham. I
cannot prove it to you yet until we find Lord Dunton. In the meantime,
however, I will ask you if you think that the men who have assisted me
to-day would be willing to do my bidding if they for a moment suspected
that I was in league with any band of scoundrels.
“With your own eyes you have seen Lowther and Mendip. Both men are
known to you, both men are gentlemen, and I think you should take it
for granted that if they are so kind as to assist me they are satisfied
that I am doing what I should.”
Lord Penshurst wrinkled up his brows. He could not quite understand how
it had come about that such men as Lowther and Mendip were apparently
working hand-in-glove with Westerham.
“I trust,” he said, “that you have not been so indiscreet as to make
mention of my affairs to these gentlemen?”
“None whatever. They have taken the steps they have because they
both trust Dunton to the utmost. And however much they may have been
influenced by the hope of some fun, they were at least persuaded that
there was a good and serious purpose at the back of this seemingly
harum-scarum adventure.”
Lord Penshurst could do nothing but gaze about him in a most distressed
way, and Westerham sought to give him back his confidence as best he
could.
“I assure you, Lord Penshurst,” said Westerham, “that your only hope is
to place yourself entirely in my hands. There is only one way out of
your troubles; you must tell me the whole of your story, for I alone
can save you. I alone know Melun, understand him, and know how to deal
with him.”
Again the Premier gazed about him wearily. “But Dunton,” he asked,
“where is he? It is all very well for me to see Lowther and Mendip with
you, but I must have Dunton's word that you are really the man you say
you are.”
“Good,” said Westerham; “I had already arranged, thinking that possibly
you would prefer to be out of London, to take you down to Lord Dunton's
yacht which is lying off Selsey Bill. However, if you prefer it, I will
send for Dunton to come here.”
“Very well,” said the Premier, “I think I would prefer that.”
It was ten o'clock at night when Dunton arrived and was shown into
Lowther's rooms. Dunton's story of Westerham was brief and to the point.
At its conclusion the Premier bowed his head. “I capitulate, Sir
Paul,” he said, “and I will tell you my secret.”
Dunton nodded approval and walked out of the room, leaving Westerham
and the Prime Minister alone.