THE TRAIL
Standing on the steps of the hotel, Brett cast a searching glance along
the line of waiting hansoms. He wanted a strong, sure-footed horse, one of
those marvellous animals, found only in the streets of London, which trots
like a dog, slides down Savoy Street on its hind legs, slips in and out
among the traffic like an eel, and covers a steady eight miles an hour for
a seemingly indefinite period.
"Shall I whistle for a cab, sir?" said the hall-porter.
"No. You whistle without discrimination," replied the barrister.
He found the stamp of gee-gee he needed fourth on the rank.
"How long has your horse been out of the stable?" he asked the driver.
"I've just driven him here, sir."
"Is he up to a hard day's work?"
"The best tit in London, sir."
"Pull him up to the pavement."
The man obeyed. Instantly his three predecessors on the rank began a
chorus:
"'Ere! Wot th'--"
"All right, Jimmy. Wait till--"
"Well, I'm--"
"What is the matter?" inquired Brett, "You fellows always squeal before
you are hurt. Here is a fare each for you," and he solemnly gave them a
shilling a-piece.
Even then they were not satisfied. They all objurgated Jimmy for his luck
as he drove off.
It was an easy matter to find the constable who had been on point duty at
the crossing when the "accident" happened. This man produced his note-book
containing the number of the Road Car Company's Camden Town and Victoria
'bus, the driver of which had so cleverly avoided a catastrophe. The
policeman knew nothing of events prior to the falling of the horse. There
was the usual crowd of hurrying people; the scream of a startled woman; a
rush of sightseers; and the rescue of Frazer from beneath the prostrate
animal.
"Did you chance to notice the destination of the omnibus immediately
preceding the Road Car vehicle?" said Brett.
"Yes, sir. It was an Atlas."
"Have you noted the exact time the accident occurred?"
"Here it is, sir--10.45 a.m."
At Victoria he was lucky in hitting upon the Camden Town 'bus itself,
drawn up outside the District Railway Station, waiting its turn to enter
the enclosure.
The driver was a sharp fellow, and disinclined to answer questions. Brett
might be an emissary of the enemy. But a handsome tip and the assurance
that a very substantial present would be forwarded to his address by the
friends of the gentleman whose life he saved unloosed his tongue.
"I never did see anything like it, sir," he confided. "The road was quite
clear, an' I was bowlin' along to get the inside berth from a General just
behind, when this yer gent was chucked under the 'osses' 'eds. Bli-me, I
would ha' thort 'e was a suicide if I 'adn't seed a bloke shove 'im orf
the kerb."
"Oh, you saw that, did you?"
"Couldn't 'elp it, sir. I was lookin' aht for fares. Jack, my mate, sawr
it too."
The conductor thus appealed to confirmed the statement. They both
described the assailant as very like his would-be victim in size,
appearance, and garments.
Jack said he could do nothing, because the sudden swerving of the 'bus,
the fall of the horse, and the instant gathering of a crowd, prevented him
from making the attempt to grab the other man, who vanished, he believed,
down Whitehall.
"You did not tell the police about the assault?" inquired Brett.
"Not me, guv'nor," said the driver. "The poor chap in the road was not
much 'urt. I knew that, though the mob thort 'e was a dead 'un. An' wot
does it mean? A day lost in the polis-court, an' a day lost on my
pay-sheet, too."
"Well," said Brett, "the twist you gave to the reins this morning meant
several days added to your pay-sheet. Would either of you know the man
again if you saw him?"
This needed reflection.
"I wouldn't swear to 'im," was the driver's dictum, "but I would swear to
any man bein' like 'im."
"Same 'ere," said the conductor.
The barrister understood their meaning, which had not the general
application implied by the words. He obtained the addresses of both men
and left them.
His next visit was to an Atlas terminus. Here he had to wait a full hour
before the 'bus arrived that had passed Trafalgar Square on a south
journey at 10.45.
The conductor remembered the sudden stoppage of the Road Car vehicle.
"Ran over a man, sir, didn't it?" he inquired.
"Nearly, not quite. Now, I want you to fix your thoughts on the passengers
who entered your 'bus at that point. Can you describe them?"
The man smiled.
"It's rather a large order, sir," he said. "I've been past there twice
since. If it's anybody you know particular, and you tell me what he was
like, I may be able to help you."
Brett would have preferred the conductor's own unaided statement, but
seeing no help for it, he gave the man a detailed description of David
Hume, plus the beard.
"Has he got black, snaky eyes and high cheek-bones?" the conductor
inquired thoughtfully.
The barrister had described a fair man, with brown hair; and the question
in no way indicated the colour of the Hume-Frazer eyes. Yet the odd
combination caught his attention.
"Yes," he said, "that may be the man."
"Well, sir, I didn't pick him up there, but I dropped him there at nine
o'clock. I picked him up at the Elephant, and noticed him particular
because he didn't pay the fare for the whole journey, but took
penn'orths."
"I am greatly obliged to you. Would you know him again?"
"Among a thousand! He had a funny look, and never spoke. Just shoved a
penny out whenever I came on top. Twice I had to refuse it."
"Was he a foreigner?"
"Not to my idea. He looked like a Scotchman. Don't you know him, sir?"
"Not yet. I hope to make his acquaintance. Can you remember the 'bus which
was in front of you at Whitehall at 10.45?"
"Yes; I can tell you that. It was a Monster, Pimlico. The conductor is a
friend of mine, named Tomkins. That is the only time I have seen him
to-day."
At the Monster, Pimlico, after another delay, Tomkins was produced. Again
Brett described David Hume, adorned now with "black, snaky eyes and high
cheek-bones."
"Of course," said Tomkins. "I've spotted 'im. 'E came aboard wiv a run
just arter a hoss fell in front of the statoo. Gimme a penny, 'e did, an'
jumped orf at the 'Orse Guards without a ticket afore we 'ad gone a
'undred yards. I thort 'e was frightened or dotty, I did. Know 'im agin?
Ra--ther. Eyes like gimlets, 'e 'ad."
The barrister regained the seclusion of the hansom.
"St John's Mansions, Kensington," he said to the driver, and then he
curled up on the seat in the most uncomfortable attitude permitted by the
construction of the vehicle.
On nearing his destination he stopped the cab at a convenient corner.
"I want you to wait here for my return," he told the driver.
"How long will you be, sir?"
"Not more than fifteen minutes."
"I only asked, sir, because I wanted to know if I had time to give the
horse a feed."
Cabby was evidently quite convinced that his eccentric fare was not a
bilker.
Brett glanced around. In the neighbouring street was a public-house, which
possessed what the agents call "a good pull-up trade." He pointed to it.
"I think," he said, "if you wait there it will be more comfortable for you
and equally good for the horse."
The cabby pocketed an interim tip with a grin.
"I've struck it rich to-day," he murmured, as he disappeared through a
swing door bearing the legend, "Tap," in huge letters.
Meanwhile, Brett sauntered past St. John's Mansions. Across the road a man
was leaning against the railings of a large garden, being deeply immersed
in the columns of a sporting paper.
The barrister caught his eye and walked on. A minute later Mr. Winter
overtook him.
"Not a move here all day," he said in disgust, "except Mrs. Jiro's
appearance with the perambulator. She led me all round Kensington Gardens,
and her only business was to air the baby and cram it with sponge-cakes."
"Where is her husband?"
"In the house. He hasn't stirred out since yesterday's visit to the
Museum."
"Who is looking after the place in your absence?"
"One of my men has taken a room over the paper shop opposite. He has
special charge of the Jap. My second assistant is scraping and varnishing
the door of No. 16 flat. He sees every one who enters and leaves the place
during the day. If Mrs. Jiro comes out he has to follow her until he sees
that I am on the job."
"Good! I want to talk matters over with you. I have a cab waiting in a
side street."
"Why, sir, has anything special happened?"
A newsboy came running along shouting the late edition of the _Evening
News_. The barrister bought a paper and rapidly glanced through its
contents.
"Here you are," he said. "Someone in that office has a good memory."
The item which Brett pointed out to the detective read as follows:--
"ACCIDENT IN WHITEHALL.
"Mr. Robert Hume-Frazer, residing in one of the great hotels in
Northumberland Avenue, was knocked down and nearly run over by an
omnibus in Whitehall this morning. The skill of the driver averted
a very serious accident. It is supposed that Mr. Hume-Frazer
slipped whilst attempting to cross before the policeman on duty at
that point stopped the traffic.
"The injured gentleman was carried to his hotel, where he is
staying with his cousin, Mr. David Hume-Frazer, whose name will be
recalled in connection with the famous 'Stowmarket Mystery' of
last year."
"What does it all mean?" inquired Winter.
"It means that you must listen carefully to what I am going to tell you.
Here is my cab. Jump in. Driver, I am surprised that a man of your
intelligence should waste your money on a public-house cigar. Throw it
away. Here is a better one. And now, Victoria Street, sharp."
Winter's ears were pricked to receive Brett's intelligence. Beyond a sigh
of professional admiration at the result of Brett's pertinacity with
regard to the omnibuses passing through Whitehall at 10.45, he did not
interrupt until the barrister had ended.
Even then he was silent, so Brett looked at him in surprise,
"Well, Winter, what do you think of it?" he said.
"Think! I wish I had half your luck, Mr. Brett," he answered sadly.
"How now, you green-eyed monster?"
"No. I'm not jealous. You beat me at my own game; I admit it. I would
never have thought of going for the 'buses. I suppose you would have
interviewed the driver and conductor of every vehicle on that route before
you gave in. You didn't trouble about the hansoms. Hailing a cab was a
slow business, and risked subsequent identification. To jump on to a
moving 'bus was just the thing. Yes, there is no denying that you are d--d
smart."
"Winter, your unreasonable jealousy is making you vulgar."
"Wouldn't any man swear, sir? Why did I let such a handful as Mrs. Jiro
slip through my fingers the other day? Clue! Why, it was a perfect bale of
cotton. If I had only followed her instead of that little rat, her
husband, we would now know where the third man lives, and have the
murderer of Sir Alan under our thumb. It is all my fault, though sometimes
I feel inclined to blame the police system--a system that won't even give
us telephones between one station and another. Never mind. Wait till I
tackle the next job for the Yard. I'll show 'em a trick or two."