Dick Allenby and Mary were lunching at the Carlton, and they were
talking about things which ordinarily would have absorbed her.
"You are not listening," he accused her, and she started.
"Wasn't I?" She was very penitent. "Darling, I was thinking of something
else. Isn't that a terrible confession? I don't suppose any other girl
ever listened to a proposal of marriage with her mind on a nasty old
kitchen in an unpleasant little house."
He laughed.
"If you could bring that mind of yours from the drab realities to the
idyllic possibilities, I should be a very happy man." And then,
curiously: "You mean Hervey Lyne's house? What's worrying you?"
"The kitchen," she said promptly. "There was something there, Dick--I
can't think what it was--something I missed, and it is worrying me. I
have a dim recollection that the poor old man told me he was having the
kitchen rebuilt. I remember him saying what a wonderful fellow Binny
was, because he was superintending the operations and saving him a lot
of money." She fingered her chin. "There was a dresser," she said
thoughtfully. "Of course, that's gone. And a horrid little sink of
brown earthen-ware, and----"
She stopped suddenly and stared at him, wide-eyed.
"The larder!" she gasped. "Of course, that's what it was! There was a
larder and a door in the wall leading to it. What has happened to the
larder?"
He shook his head helplessly.
"I haven't been terribly interested in larders," he began, but she
arrested his flippancy.
"Don't you remember Mr. Smith said as we were leaving the house that he
was sure Binny had a hiding place somewhere? I am sure that's it--on the
right hand side as you go in."
Dick Allenby laughed.
"On the right hand side as you go into the kitchen there is a solid
brick wall," he said, but she shook her head.
"I am sure there is something behind it. I remember now, when I went
into the courtyard to try the key I noticed that there had been no
change in the exterior. There must be a space there. Dick, Providence is
with us."
She was looking towards the entrance. Surefoot Smith was there, very
disconsolate. He caught her eye and nodded. Obviously she was not the
person he wanted to see, for he continued his scrutiny of the room. She
caught his eye again and beckoned him. He came forward reluctantly.
"You haven't seen the Deputy Assistant Commissioner, have you? I'm
lunching with him--he is paying for it. He said half-past one." He
looked at his watch. "It is nearly two. We've pinched Binny's wife by
the way; one of our men picked her up on the Outer Circle, but she's got
nothing to say."
"I've found the hiding place!" Mary blurted the news and Surefoot Smith
became instantly alert.
"Binny's?" he asked quickly. "In the house you mean?"
She told him breathlessly of her theory. He slapped his knee.
"You're right, of course--the vacuum pump. I wondered what he used it
for. If there was a door--and it was an easy job to make a door on
glazed brick--he could not have had handles, could he? The only way he
could get it open would be by sticking the vacuum on the surface of the
brick to give him a grip. I have got the pump at the Yard, and the
Commissioner can wait."
He went out of the room, and half an hour later Hervey Lyne's little
house was surrounded. Surefoot came into the hall, pistol in hand, went
quickly into the kitchen and examined the white wall. There was no sign
of a door. He fastened the vacuum to the smooth surface and pulled, but,
to his chagrin, nothing happened. The strength of two detectives failed
to move the door. He moved the position of the pump from time to time,
and at the fifth attempt he was rewarded. The slightest pull drew a
brick from the wall. It ran on a steel guide, and dropped over in front,
leaving an oblong aperture which was hollow.
He put his hand inside and felt a steel handle, which he turned and
pulled. The door swung open and he was in Binny's hiding place. The
disordered heap of clothes on the floor, the shaving mirror thrown down
on the bed, told their own tale. There was greater significance,
however, in the saucer he found in the sink. It was still yellow with
the annatto colouring which Binny had used.
Surefoot Smith looked at it for a long time, and then:
"I think there is going to be serious trouble," he said.
Surefoot Smith hurriedly turned over the clothes and articles which had
been emptied from the suitcase, but he found nothing to give him the
slightest clue to Binny's intentions. One thing was certain: he had been
in his biding place and had heard all that had happened that morning.
Surefoot had the door shut and himself listened to conversation in the
kitchen, and although he could not catch every word he was satisfied
that Binny had heard enough.
The annatto in the saucer was a very slight and possibly useless clue.
It told him to look for a yellow-faced man, and this might or might not
be a useful guide to the searchers.
The fugitive had left nothing else behind. Surefoot searched diligently,
crawling over the floor with his eyes glued to the tiled flooring for
some sign of crepe hair. He expected this stage-mad murderer to have
attempted some sort of theatrical disguise, but his search failed to
reveal anything that left a hint as to what that disguise might be.
The only piece of incriminating evidence which Binny had left behind was
the sealed magazine of an automatic pistol, and, since this could not
have been overlooked, the detective surmised that the magazine had been
left because the man was carrying as many as he conveniently could.
Another discovery, which, at an earlier stage, would have been
invaluable, was a soiled white glove, obviously the fellow of that which
Surefoot had found in Mr. Washington Wirth's changing room.
"You never know," said Surefoot as he handed over the glove to his
subordinate. "Juries go mad sometimes, and a little thing like that
might convince 'em--keep it."
The larder had evidently been used as a sleeping room. Although the bed
was on the floor, and the apartment itself was bare, Binny had often
found this a convenient retreat. Very little daylight came through the
small window near the ceiling, and apparently he kept that closed most
of the time; it was covered with a square of oilcloth.
Before he left Surefoot tried the experiment of having the clothes
packed in the suitcase. He found, as he had expected, that there was
only sufficient to fill one. He was satisfied, too, that some of the
clothes he had found had been recently changed by Binny, and the
conclusion he reached was that one of the suitcases had contained the
disguise which the murderer wore when he left the house.
He sent his men on missions of enquiry up and down the street, but
nobody had seen Binny leave--he had chosen the hour well. Later he
widened the circle of enquiry, but again was unsuccessful.
He found Mary Lane and her fiancé waiting patiently in the palm court of
the Carlton, and reported his discoveries.
"If only I'd thought of it before!" she said ruefully.
Surefoot Smith's smile was not altogether unpleasant.
"Either you or I or all of us would have been dead," he said grimly.
"That bird carries a young arsenal, and your bad memory probably saved
us a whole lot of unpleasantness."
"Do you think he was there?"
He nodded.
"There's no doubt about it."
"He'll get away, then?" asked Dick.
Surefoot rubbed his chin irritably.
"I wonder if that would be a good thing or a bad thing?" he said. "He
may try to leave today--all the ports are being watched, and every
single passenger will be under inspection. The only person who can pass
on and out to a ship leaving this coast tonight is a baby in arms--and
we search even him!"
He drew his chair closer to the table and leaned across, lowering his
voice.
"Young lady," he said, and he was very serious, "you know what rats do
when they're in a corner--they bite! If this man can't get out of
England by walking out or shooting himself out, he's coming back to the
cause of all his trouble. I'm one, but you're another. Do you know where
I should like to put you?"
She shook her head, for the moment incapable of speech. She was shocked,
frightened a little, if she had confessed it. Binny was on her nerves,
more than she would admit. She felt her heart beating a little faster,
and when she spoke she was oddly breathless.
"Do you really think that?" And then, forcing a smile: "Where would you
put me?"
"In Holloway Prison." He was not joking. "It's the safest place in
London for an unmarried woman who's living around in hotels and flats;
and if I could find an excuse for putting you there for seven days I
would."
"You're not serious?" said Dick, troubled.
Surefoot nodded.
"I was never more serious in my life. He may get out of the country; I
don't think it's possible that he will. If Miss Lane had not remembered
the larder I should not take the precautions I am taking tonight. The
doors out of England are locked and barred, unless he's got an
ocean-going motor-boat somewhere on the East Coast, and I have an idea
that he hasn't."
Then, abruptly:
"Where are you staying tonight?"
Mary shook her head.
"I don't know. I think at the hotel----"
"You can't stay there." He was emphatic. "I know a place where you could
stay. It wouldn't have the conveniences of an hotel, but you'd have a
decent bed and security." There was a new police station in the
north-west of London, which had married quarters above it, and one of
these was occupied by a woman whose husband, a detective sergeant, had
gone to Canada to bring back a fugitive from justice.
"I know this woman; she's a decent sort, and she'll give you a bed, if
you wouldn't mind sleeping there."
She agreed very meekly. Indeed, she had a sense of relief that he had
found such a simple solution.
Surefoot Smith had a queer sixth sense of danger. He had been concerned
in many murder cases, had dealt with scores of desperate men who would
not have hesitated to kill him if they had had the opportunity. He had
known cunning men and a few clever criminals, but Binny was an unusual
type. Here was a killer with no regard for human life. Murder to him was
not a desperate expedient--it was part of a normal method.
There was a long conference at Scotland Yard and new and urgent
telegrams were sent to all parts of the country insisting upon the
dangerous character of the wanted man. Ordinarily the English police do
not carry firearms, but in this case, as the messages warned a score of
placid chief constables, it would be an act of suicide to accost the
wanted man unless the police officer whose duty it was to arrest him was
prepared to shoot.
Scotland Yard has a record of all projected sailings, and neither from
Liverpool nor Greenock was there any kind of boat due to leave in the
next thirty-six hours.
Binny's avenue of escape must be the Continent. Strong detachments of
C.I.D. men were sent to reinforce the watchers at Harwich, Southampton,
and the two Channel ports. And yet, when these preparations were
completed, Surefoot Smith had a vague feeling of uneasiness and
futility. Binny was in London, and he was too clever a man even to think
of leaving, unless he was ignorant that his hiding place had been
discovered. There was no reason why he should not be. It was hardly
likely that he had a confederate.
At five o'clock Surefoot made an exasperating discovery: he was
strolling in Whitehall when he saw a newspaper placard: "WANTED
MURDERER'S SECRET HIDING PLACE." He bought a paper and saw,
conspicuously displayed on the front page, a long paragraph headed:
"Secret Chamber in Hervey Lyne's House." Surefoot swore softly and read
on:
"This afternoon Inspector Smith of Scotland Yard, accompanied by a
number of detectives, made a further search of the house of Hervey
Lyne--the victim of the Regent's Park murder. The police remained on
the premises for some time. It is understood that in the course of
their investigations a little room, which they had previously
overlooked, was discovered and entered, and unmistakable evidence
secured that this secret chamber had been used as a hiding place by
the servant Binny, for whom the police have been searching...."
Surefoot Smith read no further. It was a waste of time wondering who had
given away the information to the Press. Possibly some young detective
who had been engaged in the search and who was anxious to pass on this
sensational discovery. To bring home this indiscretion was a matter that
could be left till later. In the meantime Binny knew if he were to read
the newspapers.
Oddly enough, Binny did not see the paragraph, and had already made up
his mind as to the course he would pursue.
At eight o'clock that night Surefoot called at Mary Lane's hotel and
escorted her to the plain but very comfortable lodgings he had secured
for her.
He had a talk with the inspector on duty, but asked for no guard. She
was safe. Binny would be a bold man to show himself abroad, and he
certainly would not walk into a police station.
At half-past nine that night Surefoot returned to Scotland Yard and read
the reports which had come in. The boat train from Liverpool Street had
been carefully combed. There was no sign of Binny or anybody who might
have been Binny. Every passport had been examined before the train
pulled out and, as an act of precaution, the railway platform had been
cleared of friends who had gathered to see off the passengers before the
officer in charge had given the station master the "All right."
A similar course was being followed at Waterloo, where the police were
watching and searching the trains for Havre. It was too early to hear
from the sea ports.
Binny was an expert chauffeur. It was hardly likely that he would get
out of London by train if he intended leaving London.