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[Illustration: HE HAD INSISTED UPON THE TWO WOMEN DANCING FOR HIS
AMUSEMENT]
THE
MOTOR PIRATE
By
G. Sidney Paternoster
With a Frontispiece by Charles R. Sykes
New York * * * * *
A. Wessels Company
* * * * * * MCMVI
_Copyright, 1904_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
* * * * *
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MAINLY ABOUT MYSELF 1
II. THE COMPTON CHAMBERLAIN OUTRAGE 9
III. WHEREIN I MEET THE PIRATE 21
IV. CONCERNING MY RIVAL 36
V. THE COLONEL DREAMS AND I AWAKEN 48
VI. I AM ARRESTED 59
VII. I MAKE FRIENDS WITH INSPECTOR FORREST, C.I.D 71
VIII. MURDER 81
IX. EXPLAINS A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE 92
X. DESCRIBING A RIDE WITH THE PIRATE 104
XI. IN WHICH THE PIRATE HOLDS UP THE BRIGHTON MAIL 113
XII. HOW WE EXCHANGE SHOTS WITH THE PIRATE 123
XIII. OF THE ADVANTAGES OF BEING WOUNDED 135
XIV. A CLOUD APPEARS ON LOVE'S HORIZON 145
XV. A CLUE AT LAST 155
XVI. I COMMIT A BURGLARY 165
XVII. STORM 176
XVIII. IN WHICH THE PIRATE APPEARS IN A FROLICSOME HUMOUR 187
XIX. A HOT SCENT 196
XX. RELATES HOW THE PIRATE HOLDS UP AN AUGUST PERSONAGE 207
XXI. WE PLAN AN AMBUSH 218
XXII. GONE AWAY 228
XXIII. SAVED 240
XXIV. REVELATIONS 249
THE MOTOR PIRATE
CHAPTER I
MAINLY ABOUT MYSELF
OF course every one has heard of the Motor Pirate. No one indeed could
help doing so unless he or she, as the case may be, happened to be in
some part of the world where newspapers never penetrate; since for
months his doings were the theme of every gossip in the country, and his
exploits have filled columns of every newspaper from the moment of his
first appearance until the day when the reign of terror he had
inaugurated upon the roads ended as suddenly and as sensationally as it
had begun. Who the owner of the pirate car was? Whence he came? Whither
he went? These are questions which have exercised minds innumerable; but
though there have been nearly as many theories propounded as there were
brains at work propounding them, so far no informed account of the man
or his methods has been made public.
Nearly twelve months have now elapsed since he was last heard of, and
already a number of myths have grown up about his mysterious
personality. For instance, it is not true, as I saw asserted in a
sensational evening paper the other day, that the Motor Pirate was in
the habit of abducting every young and attractive woman who happened to
be travelling in any of the cars he held up. On only one occasion did he
abduct a lady, and in that case there were special circumstances with
which the public have never been made acquainted. His deeds were quite
black enough without further blackening with printer's ink, and it would
be a pity if the real Motor Pirate were lost sight of in mythical haze
such as has gathered about the name of his great prototype, Dick Turpin.
It has occurred to me, therefore, to tell the story of his doings--it
would be impossible for any mortal man to give an absolutely detailed
account of his life and actions--but I know more than the majority of
people about the personality of the man. Of one thing my readers may be
assured: I personally can vouch for the accuracy of every fact which I
chronicle. You see I am not a professional historian.
How it happened that I am in a position to give hitherto unknown
particulars about the Motor Pirate will appear in the course of my
narrative. Sufficient for the moment let it be for me to say that it was
purely by chance that the opportunity was thrown in my way; though, as
it happened, it was not entirely without my own volition that I became
involved in the network of events which finally resulted in the tragedy
which closed his career. By that tragedy the world lost a brilliant
thinker and inventor, though unfortunately these great talents were
accompanied by an abnormal condition of mind, which led the owner to
utilise his invention in criminal pursuits.
It may probably seem strange that, being in possession of facts as to
the identity of this mysterious person, I did not lay them before the
police, who, at any time during the three months of his criminal career,
would have given their ears to lay him by the heels. You may even think
it is their duty to take proceedings against me as an accomplice. Well,
I am quite prepared to answer any question which the police, or any one
else for that matter, desires to put to me. James Sutgrove, of Sutgrove
Hall, Norfolk, is not likely to change his address. When my poor old
governor died he left me sufficient excuse, in the shape of real estate,
for remaining in the country of my birth; though, if the necessity had
arisen, I should not have hesitated about going abroad. At twenty-five,
my age within a few weeks, a man has usually sufficient energy to enable
him to carve out a career for himself in a new country, and I do not
think I am very different to my fellows in that respect. But the fact
is, I have nothing to fear from the police. My criminality was less than
theirs. An ordinary citizen may be forgiven if he is blind to the
meaning of things which occur under his nose, but the police are
expected to be possessed of somewhat sharper vision. The utmost that can
be urged against me is, that if my eyes had been keener than those of
Scotland Yard, reinforced by the trained vision of some hundreds of
intelligent chief constables throughout the country, I might have been
able to lay my hands upon the Motor Pirate before--but I must not
anticipate my story.
One word of apology, however, before I begin. In order to make my
narrative fully intelligible I shall have to refer to matters which may
seem of a purely personal nature. I will make these as brief as
possible, but it was entirely through such that I was brought into
closer touch with the Motor Pirate than, perhaps with one exception, any
other person in the world. If therefore I seem to be devoting too much
attention to what appears to be merely personal interest, I trust I may
be excused. To begin, then, at the beginning.
* * * * *
On the evening of March 31, 19--, I had arranged to dine in town with a
couple of friends, both of them neighbours of mine. I am not going to
mention the name of the restaurant. It was not one of the fashionable
ones, or probably neither the cuisine nor the wines would have been so
good as they were, though both would unquestionably have been more
expensive. I prefer, therefore, to keep the name to myself. It was in
the neighbourhood of Soho, however, and the reason I had invited my
friends was in order to disabuse their minds of the idea that everything
in that neighbourhood was of necessity cheap and nasty. I had
determined that their palates should be charmed by the dinner they were
to eat, so, in addition to sending a note to the proprietor, I thought
it as well to arrive at the restaurant a quarter of an hour before the
appointed time, in order to make assurance doubly sure that everything
was as I desired it. Had my guests been casual acquaintances, I must
confess that I should never have taken this trouble. But they were not.
One of them was the renowned Colonel Maitland. I never heard anything
about his war service, but I do know that as a gastronomist his
reputation is European. The cool way he will condemn an _entree_,
presented to him by an obsequious waiter, merely after casting a single
glance upon it, speaks volumes for his critical insight; and as for
wines--well, he can tell the vineyard and the vintage of a claret by the
scent alone. I verily believe that were he to be served with a corked
wine, the result would be instant dissolution between his gastronomic
soul and body. Naturally I had to make some preparations, in order that
such delicate susceptibilities should not be offended. In addition, I
had a special reason for seeking to please him. Colonel Maitland had a
daughter.
I have only to mention the name of my other guest to reveal his identity
to every one with any knowledge of the motoring world. It was Fred
Winter, _the_ Fred Winter, leading light of the Automobile Club, holder
of more road records than I can count, in fact the most enthusiastic
motorist in the country. It was in consequence of this, indeed, that he
came to be my guest. There were few questions in regard to motoring
upon which Winter was not competent to give an opinion, and being myself
a victim to the prevailing motor-mania, I was deeply indebted to him for
many valuable tips. By this time I had passed my novitiate, and was
still driving a neat little 91/2-h.p. Clement in order to fit myself
for a more powerful and speedy car.
I arrived then at the restaurant about a quarter to eight, and having
had a brief but satisfactory interview with the proprietor, I made my
way to the table I had reserved in my favourite corner of the
dining-room. Finding I had ten minutes to spare, to kill time I ordered
a vermouth and the evening papers. The _Globe_ was the first upon the
pile the waiter brought to me, and following the example of most sane
men, I skipped the parliamentary intelligence and turned to the "By the
Way" column. I remember distinctly there was only one amusing paragraph
therein, and I was about to throw the paper aside, with the customary
lament as to the decadence of British humour, when my attention was
arrested by a paragraph at the bottom of the next column. The heading
was "Strange Highway Robbery." This was the paragraph:--
"Our Plymouth correspondent reports a novel highway robbery on the road
between Tavistock and Plymouth. Two gentlemen who had been for a run on
their motor to Tavistock, left the latter town about eight o'clock last
night. Their journey was uneventful until they reached Roborough, where
they were suddenly overtaken by a motor-car occupied by a man, who
presented a pistol at their heads, and ordered them to stop. Thinking
that the stranger merely intended to scare them, and that the summons
was only an ill-advised piece of pleasantry, they paid no attention to
the demand; whereupon the driver of the strange car, with a
well-directed shot, so damaged the machinery of their vehicle that they
were compelled to obey. Their attacker then demanded all the money and
articles of value they had in their possession under threat of
completely wrecking their car, and after securing his booty the
highwayman decamped. In consequence of the damage to their motor, it was
not until late at night that they reached Plymouth, and were enabled to
give particulars of the occurrence to the police. From their description
of the stranger's vehicle, identification should not be difficult. It is
a long, low, boat-shaped car of remarkable speed, and from the little
noise it creates is probably driven by an electric motor. As to the
personal appearance of the driver, the gentlemen who were robbed could
form no opinion, for he wore the usual leather coat affected by
tourists, and his head was completely enveloped in a hood."
On reading this paragraph, my first impulse was to lay aside the paper
and indulge in a hearty laugh. My impression was that some wag had been
hoaxing either the Plymouth correspondent or the London editor of the
_Globe_. However, my curiosity was sufficiently aroused to lead me to
take up another paper, to see if the _Globe_ was the only paper which
reported the occurrence.
The next paper on my pile was the _Star_, and the moment I unfolded the
pink sheet, I perceived that this liveliest of evening journals was not
going to be left behind by the _Globe_ in providing the public with
particulars of the latest sensation. Under the heading of "A Motor
Pirate," with descriptive headlines extending across a couple of
columns, and as attractively alliterative as the cunning pen of a smart
sub-editor could make them, was the account of a similar incident. At
first I thought it must be the same occurrence, but a brief perusal
showed me that this impression was a wrong one. But I will give the
_Star_ account in full, and I do so the more readily, not only because
it contains the first detailed account of the man whose extraordinary
audacity was shortly to raise the interest of the public to fever pitch,
but also because it tells the story with a force and colour of which my
unpractised pen is incapable. Apologising therefore to the editor for
the liberty I have taken, I reprint the _Star_ account verbatim. I
think, however, the story deserves a new chapter.