The detectives of Dibbs and Dubbs usually began their sentry-go at
Brunswick Terrace as the clock struck eight. On the morning following
George Early's second encounter with Caroli, Mole was at his post at
six. Looking over the bedroom curtains at half past, George noted the
fact and swore softly. He completed his toilet, and, picking up the
shabby portmanteau he had packed the night before, made his way to the
back door.
The sleek top hat and frock coat of business had disappeared, and
George stood arrayed in the loudest of check suits, covered by a loose
light coat; on his head was a cloth cap. In this array he made his way
out of the back gate, traversed the passage sacred to the tradesmen who
supplied Brunswick Terrace, and emerged in a mews, which led to a main
thoroughfare at right angles to that where the patient Mole kept watch.
George peeped cautiously round the corner: the coast was clear. He
hailed a disconsolate cabman, who had all but given up hope of a fare,
and drove off to Victoria.
Arrived at the station, some strategy was necessary to make sure that
the detectives were really evaded. George narrowly watched the
movements of the men who loitered about the platform, and made feints
of leaving the station to see if any would follow him. Finding that
nobody took any interest in his movements, he approached the booking
clerk and ordered his ticket in a whisper. The train and George went
off soon after seven without any further excitement than the frantic
barking of a dog, that had been left behind.
It was perfectly obvious that George Early intended to checkmate his
enemies by discreetly withdrawing from London for a time. In the
seclusion of the country he would be able to formulate some plan of
campaign by which both lawyers and blackmailers would find that they
had met their match.
George got out at a small station forty miles or so down the line. The
only other passenger to alight was a young woman with three paper
parcels, who had evidently too many personal troubles to be concerned
in watching the movements of any young man. Having inquired of the one
porter the whereabouts of the Wheatsheaf Inn, the fugitive chief of
Fairbrothers' had the satisfaction of finding a three-mile walk before
him.
The landlord of the Wheatsheaf was not troubled much with visitors,
although he advertised his house as the most popular in the country.
George found himself to be the one and only guest.
"What is there to do about here?" he asked, when he had disposed of a
substantial meal.
"Do?" said the landlord, evasively. "It depends on what you want to
do."
"I'm not particular," said George. "I've come down for a bit of a
change. Any fishing here?"
The landlord lifted one hand, and wagged his head.
"You've hit on the one thing we haven't got. Anything but fishing."
"Shooting?" said George.
"Not at this time o' the year. You won't get shooting anywheres just
now."
Fishing and shooting were all that George could think of, and he was
not an adept at either.
"If you'll take my advice," said the landlord, looking his visitor over
critically, "you'll just go easy at first. You've been overdoing it, I
can see, and you're fair run down. You don't want no shootin' nor
fishin', but plenty of good grub and a drop of good beer. I've seen
young fellers the same way before. You take my tip and go easy."
As there appeared to be nothing else to do, George had to be content
with this programme. He walked out for the rest of the morning, and for
the greater part of the afternoon; the evening was spent in the
bar-parlour, where the landlord's old cronies drank George's health and
advised him to "take it easy."
Next morning the landlord handed over a telegram, which read--
"Have discharged all three--very indignant; take care of yourself;
new men coming in to-day--ELLEN."
"Now my little beauties," said George, smiling, "we'll see how you like
that. Perhaps your friend Caroli can mesmerize some one into giving you
a new job."
Three days of inaction passed, and George had not seen fit to desert
his country retreat. It was slow work walking, eating, and drinking,
and the new master of Fairbrothers' was beginning to fall back on the
philosophy of the ancients, that wealth and position invariably have
their disadvantages.
This morning it was raining, and he stood at the inn door debating
whether he should brave the elements or retire to the bar-parlour. The
problem was solved for him swiftly in an unexpected fashion. A
carrier's cart, much bespattered and glistening with wet, had turned a
bend in the road and was now approaching the inn at a jog-trot. As
George looked at the man tucked up under the hood behind the old white
horse, another face peering from between the parcels attracted his
attention. A keen glance satisfied him that this belonged to no other
person in the world than Mrs. Gray's husband.
He turned indoors and went upstairs swiftly and silently. There was
nobody about, and George slipped into his bedroom, holding the door
open that he might the better hear any conversation which ensued. He
anticipated some lively proceedings.
"Early?" said the landlord. "Yes, the gentleman's out, I think."
"Indeed!" said the voice of Gray. "Perhaps you'll be so good as to make
sure that he is out, if you please. It's very important that I should
see him now."
"Perhaps I will," said the landlord, "and perhaps I won't." The fact
that Gray had not ordered anything, but had only asked for a visitor in
a peremptory voice, did not help to recommend him.
"You might give me a whisky," said Gray, in a milder tone, observing
his mistake. "Do you think Mr. Early will be long before he comes
back?"
The landlord didn't know, but called to the stable-boy and told him to
see if Mr. Early was in his bedroom.
"I'll go with him, if you don't mind," said Gray.
George seized his hat as these remarks reached him, and looked about
the room. There was no way out, so he promptly crawled under the bed.
Somebody knocked and entered. "Ain't here," said the voice.
"Are you sure this is his room?" said Gray, entering and looking about.
"This is the room all right," said the boy; "'e ain't 'ere." Some words
ensued on the landing by Gray endeavouring to make a search of the
house, from which he was finally persuaded by the landlady, a portly
dame of fifteen stone.
As the departing footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, George
came forth with a smile.
"Find him?" said the landlord downstairs to the boy.
"Ain't there," said the boy.
"Now I come to think of it," said the landlord, who had taken a dislike
to Gray, "he went down to the post-office just before you came in.
You'll catch him up if you hurry; it's only a couple of miles."
Gray prepared to depart. "If I should miss him," he said, "you can say
the gentleman who called came from--from Mrs. Early."
The landlord grunted, and Gray went off, having first satisfied himself
that the man he wanted was not lurking about outside.
From his bedroom window George watched until Gray was nearly out of
sight, and at once prepared to take advantage of so favourable an
opportunity for slipping off. To go down the stairs would mean creating
suspicion; he raised the window and looked out; nobody was about He
promptly climbed into the sill, dropped into the yard below, and walked
round to the front.
"Hallo!" said the landlord, "there's been a man here for you. Come from
Mrs. Early, he said."
"Ah!" said George, surprised; "where is he? I must see him at once."
"I told him you went to the post-office," said the landlord; "he was a
rough-looking customer, and very disrespectful. I thought he'd come
begging, perhaps."
"He's a scoundrel," said George, indignantly; "I expect the lazy brute
won't come back. I must go after him at once; how long has he been
gone?"
"Quarter of an hour," said the landlord; "I hope I didn't do wrong
in----"
"That's all right," said George; "who's trap is that outside?"
"That's my trap, sir," said the landlord. "If you'd like to----"
"I'll borrow it," said George, "and go after him." He ran out, and
jumped into the trap. In another minute he was driving off full speed
to the station.
"Here, hi!" yelled the landlord, rushing out "He's going the wrong way.
That ain't the way to the post-office. Hi! Jim, run after him--quick!
Tell him----"
George heard the shouts, but drove straight ahead. He did the three
miles in twenty minutes, and reached the station just as a train
steamed out. It was a down train, but George would have boarded it
promptly if he could have done so; any escape was better than none. He
stood on the platform cursing his luck, when a familiar voice fell on
his ear. He darted into the waiting-room, and peered through the
window. What he saw did not add anything to the joy of his position,
rather the reverse. Two men were wrangling with a porter; one was
Parrott, the other Busby.
"I'm done now," thought George; "they've got me fairly. They're going
to hold me up while that foreign hound gets on to me again."
He looked round the waiting-room, but it offered no escape. There was
only one thing to do--to go off in the trap again; and George was about
to do it, when a London train rushed into the platform. He hesitated;
if he could get across the line, he'd be safe. He waited feverishly for
a few minutes, hoping that Busby and Parrott would move, but they did
not. The guard's whistle blew.
"Here goes," said George. He picked up a water-bottle, and hurled it at
the outside window. A terrific crash followed, and the landlord's pony
started off with a mad gallop. Parrott and Busby rushed through the
waiting-room into the street. As they did so, George darted across the
platform, and jumped down on to the rails. The train was moving away
from the opposite side. Grasping a hand-rest, he climbed the nearest
carriage, and opened the door.
"Hi! Stand away!" yelled a porter.
"It's Early!" screamed a voice, which George recognized as Busby's.
Safe inside, with the train gathering speed, he leaned out of the
window, and waved his cap.
The two men were dancing frantically on the platform.
"Stop him!" roared Parrott; "stop the train!"
But it was too late to follow this advice, and as the train rushed off
George beheld his old colleagues gesticulating wildly around a
solitary, powerless porter.
The journey started, the young man's thoughts were soon fully occupied.
It was evident that the three men were fairly on his track, and had no
intention of giving up the chase. If once they caught him they would
keep him, and bring Caroli along to settle the third legacy. He could
see through it all quite plainly. And, so far, he had not succeeded in
finding a plan to properly check them.
George lit a cigarette, and settled himself moodily in the corner as
the train pulled up at a station.
Presently the door of his compartment opened, and the guard appeared,
accompanied by a porter and the station-master.
"That's the chap," said the guard, pointing at George.
The solitary passenger glared at him in dignified silence.
"Now then, m'lad," said the station-master; "you'll have to get out
here."
"I'm going to Victoria, my man," said George, quietly.
"I've got orders to detain you; suspicious character," said the
station-master, authoritatively. "You're sure this is the one?"--to the
guard.
"That's him," said the guard.
"Look here," said George, darkly, as the station-master got into the
carriage; "you'd better be careful what you're doing; I don't want any
of you men to get into trouble, so I give you warning."
"He got in at Coddem?" said the station-master, turning to the guard.
"Coddem," said the guard.
"Now, come along," said the station-master, impatiently.
George sat up, and looked him severely in the eye.
"Where's your authority for detaining me?" he asked. "There'll be a row
and heavy damages over this."
"It's all right," said the station-master; "I had a wire from Coddem to
detain you--suspicious character."
"You've got the wrong man," said George. "Guard, start the train."
The station-master made up his mind quickly, and caught George by the
arm.
"Give us a hand here, Joe," he said to the porter.
"Enough." George rose with dignity. "I'll go with you. It'll mean the
sack for you all, this affair. Please don't say I didn't warn you."
"Don't you worry about us," said the station-master. "Right away,
there!"
"Stop a bit," said the prisoner, pulling out a note-book; "I'll take
your number please, Mr. Guard."
The guard smiled pleasantly, and displayed his number, gratuitously
offering his name and address, and the age of his grandfather.
"If they should ask you," he said cheerfully, as he swung off in the
moving train, "you can say I've been vaccinated."
With much elaboration George entered all particulars in his book,
including the porter's number and description, a note of the
station-master's whiskers, the time, and other odd things that gave
weight to the occasion.
"If you'll promise not to attempt to escape," said the station-master,
"you can wait in the booking-office until they come for you."
"No, thank you," said George, stiffly; "this is a criminal affair, and
you must take the full consequences of it. It's just as well for you,
perhaps, that you do not realize how serious it is."
"My orders are to detain you," said the man, stolidly.
"Where to?" asked the porter, as they halted by the booking-office.
"In the cloak-room," said the station-master. "I've got the guard's
word that he's the man."
"There's no getting out of it," said George, as he was thrust into a
small room cumbered with dusty trunks and parcels. "I warned you
twice!"
With the confidence of official rectitude the station-master gave the
door a slam and boldly turned the key.
"Suspicious character that," George heard him say to a passenger.
"Ay," said the other, "looked a smart young chap."
"A dangerous man in my opinion," said the station-master, "but he won't
be here long; there's some people coming by the next train to identify
him."
"Oh," thought George, "are there? So they've done me, after all." He
gave vent to his feelings in a few choice expletives, and listened with
dull curiosity to the retreating footsteps of his captors. He looked
about him at the odd trunks and parcels, and finally noted that his
hurried exit from the Wheatsheaf Inn had not improved his general
appearance.
"No brushes here, of course," said George, looking round. "What's
this?" He picked up a parcel in two straps with a handle. It proved to
be a light dust coat. George used it to rub the mud splashes off his
clothes and improve the appearance of his boots. He climbed up and
looked through the narrow fanlight. There was not a living soul to be
seen.
"I suppose I'm in this infernal place for a couple of hours," he
grumbled. "What's that?" He listened; signs of life were evident in a
basket by the window. George gave it a sharp tap. A short bark greeted
him. "A dog!" He read the label, "Snooks, to be left till called for."
"Sorry for Snooks," said George, pulling out his pocket-knife, "but I
must have amusement." He cut the cord, and a small fox terrier bounded
out and nearly went into a state of drivelling idiocy in his efforts to
show gratitude for release.
"Good boy!" said George, fondling the dog. "Wonder if there's any more
here?" He overhauled the parcels. "Hallo!" A faint mew arose from
another basket. "This is a feline member; name of Wilkins." He cut the
strap and released a black kitten. "Good!" said George, "that's a sign
of luck." The cat jumped to the floor, and in two seconds a furious and
terrific combat ensued, followed by a wild chase. Over trunks, baskets,
bags and parcels went Wilkins' cat, followed madly by Snooks' dog.
There was a momentary parley on a hat-box, and the chase continued
afresh, ending as suddenly as it began by Wilkins' cat disappearing
through the fanlight.
In spite of this disappointment Snooks' dog wagged his tail and looked
up gratefully at George for the brief excitement.
"This is going to be a beanfeast, I can see," smiled the captive. "If I
can't get out of this place I'll make some trouble for that officious
old fool. Suspicious character, he said I was! What's this?--more old
clothes?" He pulled a plaid overcoat from under a pile of parcels and
examined it. In one of the pockets he found a flask of whisky which he
tasted, and promptly abandoned. From that he made a searching
investigation of the room, overhauling other people's property without
respect to name or rank, and displaying an inquisitive curiosity in the
contents of small handbags. A square tin box puzzled him completely. He
tapped it, and peered into the small holes on the top.
"There's some mystery here," thought George. "Perhaps it's an infernal
machine, put here by one of the station-master's enemies. A man like
that is sure to have enemies. I'll open it."
This was easier said than done, but the most obstinate of boxes like
the most intricate of locks must give way before the perseverance of
man. George exerted all his strength in a supreme effort and pulled. He
was successful; the lid flew off with unexpected suddenness, and the
contents came out in a shower.
George put down the box and laughed. "Well," he said, "who'd have
thought of finding frogs in a cloak-room. Go it, Snooks!"
Snooks' dog needed no urging, but jumped and twirled and barked with
astounding rapidity. The frogs with equal mobility spread themselves
over the room, and afforded the prisoner amusement for a good quarter
of an hour. A small battalion of them found refuge in a large hamper
filled with farm produce. George watched this attempt at ambush with
great interest.
So far the prisoner's confinement had met with no interruption from
without. Stealthy footsteps approached the door once, but on this
occasion he contrived to push a handbag through the fanlight and had
the satisfaction of knowing that Joe, the porter, received it on his
head. A few rude country oaths from Joe were the last sign of life from
the platform.
George had not entirely given up hopes of escape, and the sound of
footsteps on the platform warning him that the next train was nearly
due, he began to take note of his position. If he stayed quietly where
he was the pursuers would come up with him, and never leave him until
they had accomplished their purpose, which, of course, was obvious.
They could easily smooth over the station-master with a five-pound
note.
There was no way of escape but by smashing open the door, an almost
impossible task; the window was barred, and the ceiling looked too
strong for escape by way of the roof. One thing only offered a way out
and that was the fire-place, which George examined with interest. It
was a fire-place with a very large grate, and an immense fire-guard of
closely plaited wire surrounding it. George surveyed it quietly for a
few moments, then collected an armful of brown paper and stuffed it in
the grate. Having seen that the trap was firmly pulled down to prevent
any smoke ascending the chimney, he sat down to await the arrival of
the train.
He had not long to wait; in a few minutes he heard the signal bell go,
and immediately afterwards the clanging of a hand-bell and the
stentorian voice of a porter announcing the London train.
George struck a match quickly, applied it to the paper in the grate,
closed the fire-guard to prevent any danger, and crouched down by the
door. In less than half a minute a volume of rich smoke ascended to the
ceiling and began to pour through the fanlight.