"It's the top floors we want," he said, when he rejoined me in Mr.
Moon's sitting-room. "The packing-case maker is genuine enough, and very
busy. So is the fancy-goods agent. I went in, seeing the door wide open,
and found the agent, a little, shop-walkery sort of chap, hard at work
with his clerk among piles of cardboard boxes. I wouldn't go further, in
case I were spotted. Do you think you'd be cool enough to do it without
arousing suspicion? Mayes doesn't know you, you see. What do you think?
We don't want to precipitate matters till we hear from Hewitt, but on
the other hand I don't want to sit still as long as anything can be
ascertained. You might ask a question about book-binding."
"Of course," I said. "If you will let me I'll go at once--glad of the
chance to get a peep. I'll bespeak a quotation for binding and
lettering a thousand octavos in paste grain, on behalf of some
convenient firm of publishers. That would be technical enough, I think?"
I took my hat and walked out as Plummer had done, though, of course, I
approached the door of No. 8 with less caution. The packing-case maker's
men were hammering away merrily, and as I mounted the stairs I saw the
little fancy-goods agent among his cardboard boxes, just as Plummer had
said. The upper part of the house was a silent contrast to the busy
lower floors, and as I arrived at the next landing I was surprised to
see the door ajar.
I pushed boldly in, and found myself alone in a good-sized room plainly
fitted as an office. There were two windows looking on the street, and
one at the back, more than half concealed behind a ground glass
partition or screen. I stepped across and looked out of this window. It
looked on a narrow space, or well, of plain brick wall, containing
nothing but a ladder, standing in one corner. And the only other window
giving on this narrow square space was in the opposite wall, but much
lower, on the ground level.
I saw these things in a single glance, and then I turned--to find myself
face to face with a tallish, thin, active man, with a pale, shaven,
ascetic face, dark hair, and astonishingly quick glittering black eyes.
He stood just within the office door, to which he must have come without
a sound, looking at me with a mechanical smile of inquiry, while his
eyes searched me with a portentous keenness.
"Oh," I said, with the best assumption of carelessness I could command,
"I was looking for you, Mr. Richardson. Do you care to give a quotation
for binding at per thousand crown octavo volumes in paste grain, plain,
with lettering on back?"
"No," answered the man with the eyes, "I don't; I'm afraid my
carelessness has led you into a mistake. I am not Richardson the
bookbinder. He was my predecessor in this office, and I have neglected
to paint out his name on the door-post."
I hastened to apologise. "I am sorry to have intruded," I said. "I found
the door ajar and so came in. You see the publishing season is
beginning, and our regular binders are full of work, so that we have to
look elsewhere. Good-day!"
"Good-day," the keen man responded, turning to allow me to pass through
the door. "I'm sorry I cannot be of service to you--on this occasion."
From first to last his eyes had never ceased to search me, and now as I
descended the stairs I could _feel_ that they were fixed on me still.
I took a turn about the houses, in order not to be observed going
direct to "The Compasses," and entered that house by way of the private
bar, as before.
"That is Mayes, and no other," said Plummer, when I had made my report
and described the man with the eyes. "I've seen him twice, once with his
beard and once without. The question now is, whether we hadn't best sail
in straight away and collar him. But there's the window at the back, and
a ladder, I think you said. Can he reach it?"
"I think he might--easily."
"And perhaps there's the roof, since he's got the top floor too. Not
good enough without some men to surround the house. We must go gingerly
over this. One thing to find out is, what is the building behind? Ah,
how I wish Mr. Hewitt were here now! If we don't hear from him soon we
must send a message. But we mustn't lose sight of No. 8 for a moment."
There was a thump at the sitting-room door, and Mr. Moon came puffing in
and shouldered himself confidentially against Plummer. "Bloke downstairs
wants to see you," he said, in a hoarse grunt that was meant for a low
whisper. "Twigged you outside, I think, an' says he's got somethink
partickler to tell yer. I believe 'e's a 'nark'; I see him with one o'
your chaps the other day."
"I'll go," Plummer said to me hurriedly. "Plainly somebody's spotted me
in the street, and I may as well hear him."
I knew very well, of course, what Moon meant by a 'nark.' A 'nark'
is an informer, a spy among criminals who sells the police whatever
information he can scrape up. Could it be possible that this man had
anything to tell about Mayes? It was scarcely likely, and I made up my
mind that Plummer was merely being detained by some tale of a petty
local crime.
But in a few minutes he returned with news of import. "This fellow is
most valuable," he said. "He knows a lot about Mayes, whom, of course,
he calls by another name; but the identity's certain. He saw me looking
in at No. 8, he says, and guessed I must be after him. He seems to have
wondered at Mayes's mysterious movements for a long time, and so kept
his eye on him and made inquiries. It seems that Mayes sometimes uses a
back way, through the window you saw on the opposite side of the little
area, by way of that ladder you mentioned. It's quite plain this fellow
knows something, from the particulars about that ladder. He wants half a
sovereign to show me the way through a stable passage behind and point
out where our man can be trapped to a certainty. It'll be a cheap ten
shillingsworth, and we mustn't waste time. If Hewitt comes, tell him not
to move till I come back or send a message, which I can easily do by
this chap I'm going with. And be sure to keep your eye on the front door
of No. 8 while I'm gone."
The thing had begun to grow exciting, and the fascination of the pursuit
took full possession of my imagination. I saw Plummer pass across the
end of the street in company with a shuffling, out-at-elbows-looking man
with dirty brown whiskers, and I set myself to watch the door of the
staircase by the packing-case maker's with redoubled attention, hoping
fervently that Mayes might emerge, and so give me the opportunity of
capping the extraordinary series of occurrences connected with the Red
Triangle by myself seizing and handing him over to the police.
So I waited and watched for something near another quarter of an hour.
Then there came another thump at the door, and once more I beheld Mr.
Moon.
"Man askin' for you in the bar, sir," he said.
"Asking for me?" I asked, a little astonished. "By name?"
"Mr. Brett, 'e said, sir. He's the same chap, you know. He's got a
message from Inspector Plummer, 'e says."
"May he come up here?" I asked, mindful of maintaining my watch.
"Certainly, sir, if you like. I'll bring him."
Presently the shuffling man with the dirty whiskers presented himself.
He was a shifty, villainous-looking fellow of middle height, looking a
"nark" all over. He pulled off his cap and delivered his message in a
rum-scented whisper. "Inspector Plummer says the front way don't matter
now," he said. "'E can cop 'im fair the other way if you'll go round to
him at once. If Mr. Martin Hewitt's here 'e'd rather 'ave 'im, but on'y
one's to come now."
Naturally, I thought, Plummer would prefer Hewitt; but in this case I
should for once be ahead of my friend, and have the pleasure of relating
the circumstances of the capture to him, instead of listening, as usual,
to his own quiet explanations of the manner in which the case had been
brought to a successful issue. So I took my hat and went.
"Best let me go in front," whispered the "nark." "You bein' a toff might
be noticed." It was a reasonable precaution, and I followed him
accordingly.
We went a little way down Barbican, and presently, taking a very narrow
turning, plunged into a cluster of alleys, through which, however, I
could plainly perceive that our way lay in the direction of the back of
the house in Norbury Row. At length my guide stopped at what seemed a
stable yard, pushed open a wicket gate, and went in, keeping the gate
open for me to follow.
It was, indeed, a stable yard, littered with much straw, which the
"nark" carefully picked to walk on as noiselessly as possible, motioning
me to do the same. It was a small enough yard, and dark, and when my
guide very carefully opened the door of a stable I saw that that was
darker still.
He pushed the door wide so as to let a little light fall on another door
which I now perceived in the brick wall which formed the side of the
stable. After listening intently for a moment at this door, the guide
stepped back and favoured me with another puff of rum and a whisper.
"There's no light in that there passage," he said, "an' we'd better not
strike one. I'll catch hold of your hand."
He pulled the stable door to, and took me by the hand. I heard the inner
door open quietly, and we stepped cautiously forward. We had gone some
five or six yards in the darkness when I felt something cold touch the
wrist of the hand by which I was being led. There was a loud click, my
hand was dropped, and I felt my wrist held fast, while I could hear my
late guide shuffling away in the darkness.
I could not guess whether to cry out or remain quiet. I called after the
man in a loud whisper, but got no answer. I used my other hand to feel
at my right wrist, and found that it was clipped in one of a pair of
handcuffs, the other being locked in a staple in the wall. I tugged my
hardest to loosen this staple, but it held firm. The thing had been so
sudden and stealthy that I scarce had time to realise that I was in
serious danger, and that, doubtless, Plummer had preceded me, when a
light appeared at an angle ahead. It turned the corner, and I perceived,
coming toward me, carrying a lamp, the pale man of the eyes, whom I had
encountered not an hour before--in a word, Mayes.
His eyes searched me still, but he approached me with a curiously polite
smile.
"No, Mr. Brett," he said, "my name is not Richardson, and I am not a
bookbinder. Not that I am particular about such a thing as a name, for
you have heard of me under more than one already, and you are quite at
liberty to call me Richardson if you like. I am sorry to have to talk to
you in this uncomfortable place, but the circumstances are exceptional.
But, at least, I should give you a chair."
He stepped back a little way and pressed a bell-button. Presently the
fellow who had decoyed me there appeared, and Mayes ordered him to
bring me a chair at once, which he did, with stolid obedience. I sat in
it, so that my wrist rested at somewhere near the level of my shoulder.
"Mr. Brett," Mayes pursued, when his man was gone, "I am not so
implacable a person as you perhaps believe me; in fact, I can assure you
that my disposition is most friendly."
"Then unfasten this handcuff," I said.
"I am sorry that that is a little precaution I find it necessary to take
till we understand each other better. I am glad to see you, Mr. Brett,
though I am sure you will not think me rude if I say that I should have
preferred Mr. Martin Hewitt in your place. But perhaps his turn will
come later. I have a proposition to make, Mr. Brett. I should like you
to join me."
"To join you?"
"Exactly." He nodded pleasantly. "You needn't shrink; I shan't ask you
to do anything vulgar, or even anything that, with your present
prejudices, you might consider actively criminal. You can help me, you
see, in your own profession as a journalist; and in other ways. And my
enterprise is greater than you may imagine. Join me, and you shall be
a great man in an entirely new sphere. A small matter of initiation is
necessary, and that is all. You have only to consent to that."