DEPORTATION
T. B. found the Chief Commissioner of Police at his club, and
unfolded his plan.
The Chief looked grave.
"It might very easily lead to a horrible catastrophe if you carry
that scheme into execution."
"It might very easily lead to a worse if I don't," said T. B.
brutally. "I am too young to die. At the worst it can only be a
'police blunder,' such as you read about in every evening newspaper
that's published," he urged, "and I look at the other side of the
picture. If this woman communicates with her principals, nothing is
more certain than that Thursday will see the blowing up of the Wady
Semlik Barrage. These 'Nine Bears' are operating on the sure
knowledge that Bronte's Bank is going to break. The stocks they are
attacking are companies banking with Bronte, and it's ten chances to
one they will kill Sir George Calliper in order to give an artistic
finish to the failure."
The Commissioner bit his lip thoughtfully. "And," urged T. B. Smith,
"the N.H.C. will be warned, and bang goes our only chance of bagging
the lot!"
The Commissioner smiled.
"Your language, T. B.!" he deplored; then, "Do as you wish--but what
about the real Mary Brown?"
"Oh, she can be sent on next week with apologies. We can get a new
warrant if necessary."
"Where is she?"
"At Bow Street."
"No; I mean the Spanish lady?"
T. B. grinned.
"She's locked up in your office, sir," he said cheerfully.
The Commissioner said nothing, but T. B. declined to meet his eye.
At four o'clock the next morning, a woman attendant woke "La Belle
Espagnole" from a fitful sleep, and a few minutes afterwards T. B.,
dressed for a journey and accompanied by a hard-faced wardress and a
detective, came in.
"Where are you going to take me?" she demanded, but T. B.'s reply was
not very informing.
A closed carriage deposited them at Euston in time to catch the early
morning train.
In the compartment reserved for her and the wardress--it was a
corridor carriage, and T. B. and his man occupied the next
compartment--she found a dainty breakfast waiting for her, and a
supply of literature. She slept the greater part of the journey and
woke at the jolting of a shunting engine being attached to the
carriage.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"We're there," was the cryptic reply of the woman attendant.
She was soon to discover, for, when the carriage finally came to a
standstill and the door was opened, she stepped down onto a
wind-swept quay. Ahead of her the great white hull of a steamer
rose, and before she could realise the situation she had been hurried
up the sloping gangway onto the deck.
Evidently T. B.'s night had been profitably spent, for he was
expected. The purser met him.
"We got your telegrams," he said. "Is this the lady?"
T. B. nodded.
The purser led the way down the spacious companion.
"I have prepared 'C' suite," he said, and ushered the party into a
beautifully appointed cabin.
She noticed that a steel grating had been newly fixed to the
porthole, but that was the only indication of her captivity.
"I have enlisted the help of the stewardess," said T. B., "and you
will find all the clothing you are likely to require for the voyage.
I am also instructed to hand you £300. You will find your little
library well stocked. I myself have denuded my own poor stock of
French novels in order that you might not be dull."
"I understand that I am to be deported?" she said.
"That is an excellent understanding," he replied.
"By what authority?" she demanded. "It is necessary to obtain an
order from the Court."
"For the next fourteen days, and until this ship reaches Jamaica, you
will be Mary Brown, who was formally extradited last Saturday on a
charge of fraud," said T. B. "If you are wise you will give no
trouble, and nobody on board need have an inkling that you are a
prisoner. You can enjoy the voyage, and at the end----"
"At the end?" she asked, seeing that he paused.
"At the end we shall discover our mistake," said T. B., "and you may
return."
"I will summon the captain and demand to be put ashore!" she cried.
"A very natural request on the part of a prisoner," said T. B.
meditatively, "but I doubt very much whether it would have any effect
upon an unimaginative seaman."
He left her raging.
For the rest of the day he idled about the ship. The _Port Sybil_
was due to leave at four o'clock, and when the first warning bell had
sounded he went below to take his leave.
He found her much calmer.
"I would like to ask one question," she said. "It is not like the
police to provide me with money, and to reserve such a cabin as this
for my use--who is behind this?"
"I wondered whether you would ask that," said T. B. "Sir George was
very generous----"
"Sir George Calliper!" she gasped. "You have not dared----"
"Yes, it needed some daring," admitted T. B., "to wake an eminent
banker out of his beauty sleep to relate such a story as I had to
tell--but he was very nice about it."
She brooded for some moments.
"You will be sorry for this," she said. "The Nine Men will know much
sooner than you imagine."
"Before they know this they will know other things," he said. And
with this utterance he left her.
He stood watching the great steamer moving slowly down the Mersey.
He had left the wardress on board to make the voyage, and the other
detective had remained to report.
As the vessel swung round a bend of the Mersey out of sight, he
murmured flippantly:
"Next stop--Jamaica!"
T. B. reached his chambers at noon that day. He stopped to ask a
question of the porter.
"Yes, sir," said that worthy, "he arrived all right with your card
last night. I made him comfortable for the night, got him some
supper, and told my mate who is on duty at night to look after him."
T. B. nodded. Declining the lift-boy's services, he mounted the
marble stairs.
He reached the door of his flat and inserted the key.
"Now for Mr. Hyatt," he thought, and opened the door.
There was a little hallway to his chambers, in which the electric
light still burned, in spite of the flood of sunlight that came from
a long window at the end.
"Extravagant beggar!" muttered T. B.
The dining-room was empty, and the blinds were drawn, and here, too,
the electric light was full on. There was a spare bedroom to the
left, and to this T. B. made his way.
He threw open the door.
"Hyatt!" he called; but there was no answer, and he entered.
Hyatt lay on the bed, fully dressed. The handle of a knife protruded
from his breast, and T. B., who understood these things, knew that
the man had been dead for many hours.
* * * * * * *
Consols were up.
There was no doubt whatever about that fact, and the industrial
market was a humming hive of industry.
Breweries, bakeries, and candlestick makeries--their shares bounded
joyously as though a spirit, as of early spring, had entered into
these inanimate and soulless things.
The mysterious "bears" were buying, buying, buying.
Frantically, recklessly buying.
Whatever coup had been contemplated by the Nine Men had failed, and
their agents and brokers were working at fever heat to cover their
losses.
It is significant that on the morning the boom started, there
appeared in all the early editions of the evening newspapers one
little paragraph. It appeared in the "late news" space and was
condensed:
"Wady Barrage was handed over to Egyptian Government early this
morning in presence of Minister of Works. Overnight rumours were
prevalent that attempt made to destroy section dam by dynamite and
that Italian named Soccori shot dead by sentry of West Kent Regiment
in act of placing explosives on works. No official confirmation."
Interesting enough, but hardly to be associated by the crowd which
thronged the approaches of the House with the rising market.
All day long the excitement in the city continued, all day long
bareheaded clerks ran aimlessly--to all appearance--from 'Change to
pavement, pavement to 'Change, like so many agitated ants.
Sir George Calliper, sitting alone in the magnificence of his private
office, watched the "boom" thoughtfully, and wondered exactly what
would have happened if "an Italian named Soccori" had succeeded in
placing his explosive.
The echoes of the boom came to T. B. Smith in his little room
overlooking the Thames Embankment, but brought him little
satisfaction. The Nine Men had failed this time. Would they fail on
the next occasion?
Who they were he could guess. From what centre they operated, he
neither knew nor guessed. For T. B. they had taken on a new aspect.
Hitherto they had been regarded merely as a band of dangerous and
clever swindlers, Napoleonic in their method; now, they were
murderers--dangerous, devilish men without pity or remorse.
The man Moss by some accident had been associated with them--a tool
perhaps, but a tool who had surprised their secret. He was not the
type of man who, of his own intelligence, would have made
discoveries. He mentioned Hyatt and "the man on the Eiffel Tower."
That might have been the wanderings of a dying man, but Hyatt had
come to light.
Hyatt, with his curiously intellectual face; here, thought T. B., was
the man, if any, who had unearthed the secret of the Nine.
Likely enough he shared confidence with Moss; indeed, there was
already evidence in T. B.'s hands that the two men had business
dealings. And the third--"the man on the Eiffel Tower"? Here T. B.
came against a wall of improbability.